Little Women and Me (11 page)

Well, what were
they
doing that was so important and helpful? Standing around a general store and talking?

And yet what could we really do, outside of talking and sewing socks?

I left the store feeling disturbed at my own powerlessness to influence the larger events around me, the men’s mocking laughter following me out the door.

Not ready to go home yet—a new home that felt too safe just now—I walked farther down the street. Soon the shops disappeared, then came a long expanse with nothing, and then …

A church.

But it looked so familiar.

As I stepped closer, I saw a tiny metal plaque nailed to the wall beside the front door. It had a year on it, dating the founding of the church to the days of the American Revolution.

I’d seen that plaque before …

Suddenly, I remembered a much larger church, with a wing for a bigger congregation and administrative offices, a Sunday school, but with this original tiny building still preserved as part of the entrance.

I
knew
this church!

It stood, or at least in its more modern version, in the town where I lived in my real life, the town I’d grown up in.

Just what the heck was going on here?

Why was I essentially back where I started?

Then the answer came to me:
change
. Somehow, it all came down to change.

I’d already been altered by my time here, even I could see
that. The way I saw the world around me, even the word choices I made—it wasn’t the same as before. But if I was really being changed by this world, what changes was I acting upon it? Surely there must be something beyond introducing
wack
into the vocabulary. Surely there must be some reason for all this, some higher purpose.

Was it really all about saving Beth?

Beth must have made quite an impression on the old man and he on her. So grateful was she about him letting her play the piano, she sewed him a pair of slippers as a thank-you in record time, calling on us sisters to help. The slippers had pansies on a deeper purple background, leaving the old man so touched, he sent her a little cabinet piano of her very own with brackets to hold candles, green silk with a gold rose in the middle covering the flat top, a perfect little rack and stool. It came with a note from Mr. James Laurence to Miss Elizabeth March, saying the piano had belonged to his granddaughter, whom he’d lost.

He’d lost a son and a granddaughter? How sad!

But I stopped being sad when Beth began to play. It was just wonderful to see how happy she was now.

Wednesday night turned into Thursday turned into breakfast on Friday.

Jo (trying to appear casual): “So, Emily, how do you plan to spend your day of leisure?”

Me (trying to appear equally casual, but failing): “I thought I might go over to the Laurence place for a bit this morning.”

Jo (with ill grace): “Harrumph.”

No sooner did my sisters head out the door to their various destinations than I was out the door myself and across the grounds to the Laurence estate like a light. I was
so
excited to be on my first solo visit to him, but not so excited that I forgot to remind myself that the hedge separating our properties was taller than it looked.

Laurie looked only mildly surprised to see me on my own.

“Ah, yes,” he said, finally opening the door wider so that I might enter, “I remember now your saying you could come on Fridays.”

Then, remembering his manners, he bowed at the waist and greeted me with, “Dude.”

“Dude,” I returned with a slight curtsy.

He had fully recovered from his cold and asked me to walk in the conservatory with him.

“I like your family very much,” he said, strolling with his hands clasped behind his back. “Your mother is a capital woman.”

“Capital,” I echoed, feeling dumb.

“And your sister Meg, such patience she has with everybody.”

“Patience.”

“And then there’s Jo.” He laughed. “Jo can be quite overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming.”

“Amy is so funny about her nose. I don’t imagine anyone but her sees anything wrong with it.”

“Nose.”

“And dear Beth. Was there ever a kinder, gentler girl in the world?”

“George H. W. Bush.” In a speech, he’d once referred to “a kinder and gentler nation.” What can I say? We’d studied sayings of the presidents in American history class.

“Pardon me?” That brought him up short.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I was just free-associating for a moment there.”

“Free-associating?” He looked puzzled. “Is that another word you invented, like
wack
and
dude
?”

I ignored the question. “I’m glad you find so much to admire in each of my sisters,” I said, “but isn’t there someone you’ve left out?”

“Left out?” He continued being puzzled. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe there is anyone else.”

This wouldn’t do.

“Me?” I finally said, coming straight out with it. “Don’t you have any admiring things to say about me?”

He laughed then. “Why, of course! You’re the middle March, and may I say, you do a capital job of it!”

Harrumph!

No, this
really
would not do.

Didn’t he feel the same attraction for me that I felt toward him? He had to!

I decided to test my hypothesis. I placed my hands on the sides of his face and pulled his head toward mine, closing the space between us.

“Miss March!” he cried, just prior to my lips touching his.

I can’t say it was the most satisfying kiss in the history of the universe. There were no sparks of electricity, no stomach butterflies, and when I tried to slip him some tongue, all I was met with was a firmly closed mouth.

“Miss March!” he cried again, extricating himself from my grasp and taking a full leap backward.

“Emily,” I corrected.

“Very well. Emily. I do not know what came over you, but I am no longer certain your Friday visits are such a good idea.”

I just looked at him, curious. He may not have returned my kiss, but I was somehow sure he hadn’t totally hated it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gaining control over his innate good manners when I remained silent. Perhaps he thought I felt offended? “I am sure I know what just happened. You have somehow caught the cold that I had last week and now you are delirious. Colds can do that to one—cause delirium, I mean; not, er, kissing other people, although I suspect it could cause that too, since it so obviously just did.”

“You must be right,” I said, feeling the need to accept his explanation as a kindness to him more than myself. He was so obviously confused and I couldn’t blame him: there were no kisses like
that
in the original
Little Women
. I put my hand to my own forehead in that same gesture I found so annoying when Jo or Meg did it. “Oh, look,” I said. “I’m warm. I believe I do have a fever!”

I reached for his hand so that I might place it on my forehead, prove to him how feverish I felt to the touch, but he was having none of that.

“I will take your word for it,” he said, untangling his hand from mine. “Now, you really must go home and take care of yourself until you are better. I am sorry I spoke so harshly earlier when I said you should not come on Fridays anymore. Of course you may come—when you are feeling all better, that is—and we shall never speak of this dreadful incident again.”

Dreadful in—?

Well, that went well
, I said to myself as he brusquely ushered me out of the house.

But then I decided he was probably just acting so flustered because on some level he thought I was hot, even if he couldn’t allow himself to think that.

At least it wasn’t a total loss.

Seven

Oh, what I wouldn’t give for some LOL cats right around now.

In the wake of the me-kissing-Laurie disaster, I realized that I had finally found my place among the March sisters. If Meg was the wise older sister, Jo the rebel tomboy, Beth the gentle spirit, and Amy the vain and pretty one, I was … I was … I was …

The family
skank
?

Great
, I thought.
That’s just great.

It was Thursday again, my day to attend to Amy: dressing her hair in the morning, walking her to school, picking her up afterward, helping out with homework.

“I should like you to gather some strands in a bow at the back,” she instructed self-importantly, “but brush the rest so
that it looks lush and free-flowing. Oh, and please don’t forget to leave some tendrils framing my face. Tendrils are
so
important in making my nose look more normal. My life was simply appalling before I discovered the finer uses of tendrils.”

There were
so
many things a person could’ve said to that insane “tendrils” speech of Amy’s, but it was just too easy. Besides, I was sure I could create something more interesting than what she was describing. But then I puzzled over the incredible array of pins and bows and curling tongs. I’d never been much good with my own hair—back home, Charlotte and Anne could put their own hair into French braids or use a scrunchie and have it wind up looking perfect—and none of this made any sense to me. Perhaps simple would be best.

Finally, I picked up the brush—grudgingly, I must add.

“How’s this?” I said not much more than a moment later.

She studied her reflection.

“What have you done?” she shrieked.

“I’ve put it all up in a ponytail,” I said.

“A
ponytail
? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

When she put it like that, I had to admit, it didn’t sound like the most attractive idea. But I thought it looked fine, plus it was easy to do one.

“Haven’t you ever seen a ponytail?” I was somewhat shocked at her extreme reaction.

“Yes,” she admitted before adding, “
On a horse!
” She patted her hair in a fussy way. “Meg never does my hair like this.”

“Well, I’m not exactly Meg, am I?” I countered. Then I seized on an idea, one I was sure would appeal to Amy. “I saw it in a newspaper when I was in town last Friday. They say it’s the latest, er, rage abroad. All the fashionable girls are wearing them.”

“Abroad, you say?”

“Oh, yes. It originated in France. They call it, um,
le ponytail
.”

“
Le ponytail
?” She carefully formed the unfamiliar words and for once they came out just right, which was interesting, since Amy was known in the family for botching all kinds of words and phrases, which I supposed was still better than being the family skank.

“But if you really don’t like it …,” I started to say, reaching for the hair ribbon.

“Oh no!” Her hand flew to protect the bow holding up her ponytail. “I do like it, very much so. It only took me a few minutes to realize it.” She studied her reflection some more. “And you say it’s French?”

“
Oui
,” I said, speaking the only French I knew outside of
le ponytail
.