CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
SURPRISES
Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and
thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk. No one
disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth’s little red pillow, planning
stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who
never seemed far away. Her face looked tired, grave, and rather sad, for
tomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years went
by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have
accomplished. Almost twenty-five, and nothing to show for it. Jo was
mistaken in that. There was a good deal to show, and by-and-by she saw,
and was grateful for it.
“An old maid, that’s what I’m to be. A literary spinster, with a pen for a
spouse, a family of stories for children, and twenty years hence a morsel of
fame, perhaps, when, like poor Johnson, I’m old and can’t enjoy it, solitary,
and can’t share it, independent, and don’t need it. Well, I needn’t be a sour
saint nor a selfish sinner, and, I dare say, old maids are very comfortable
when they get used to it, but…” and there Jo sighed, as if the prospect was
not inviting.
It seldom is, at first, and thirty seems the end of all things to five-and-
twenty. But it’s not as bad as it looks, and one can get on quite happily if
one has something in one’s self to fall back upon. At twenty-five, girls
begin to talk about being old maids, but secretly resolve that they never will
be. At thirty they say nothing about it, but quietly accept the fact, and if
sensible, console themselves by remembering that they have twenty more
useful, happy years, in which they may be learning to grow old gracefully.
Don’t laugh at the spinsters, dear girls, for often very tender, tragic
romances are hidden away in the hearts that beat so quietly under the sober
gowns, and many silent sacrifices of youth, health, ambition, love itself,
make the faded faces beautiful in God’s sight. Even the sad, sour sisters
should be kindly dealt with, because they have missed the sweetest part of
life, if for no other reason. And looking at them with compassion, not
contempt, girls in their bloom should remember that they too may miss the
blossom time. That rosy cheeks don’t last forever, that silver threads will
come in the bonnie brown hair, and that, by-and-by, kindness and respect
will be as sweet as love and admiration now.
Gentlemen, which means boys, be courteous to the old maids, no matter
how poor and plain and prim, for the only chivalry worth having is that
which is the readiest to pay deference to the old, protect the feeble, and
serve womankind, regardless of rank, age, or color. Just recollect the good
aunts who have not only lectured and fussed, but nursed and petted, too
often without thanks, the scrapes they have helped you out of, the tips they
have given you from their small store, the stitches the patient old fingers
have set for you, the steps the willing old feet have taken, and gratefully
pay the dear old ladies the little attentions that women love to receive as
long as they live. The bright-eyed girls are quick to see such traits, and will
like you all the better for them, and if death, almost the only power that can
part mother and son, should rob you of yours, you will be sure to find a
tender welcome and maternal cherishing from some Aunt Priscilla, who has
kept the warmest corner of her lonely old heart for ‘the best nevvy in the
world’.
Jo must have fallen asleep (as I dare say my reader has during this little
homily), for suddenly Laurie’s ghost seemed to stand before her, a
substantial, lifelike ghost, leaning over her with the very look he used to
wear when he felt a good deal and didn’t like to show it. But, like Jenny in
the ballad…
“She could not think it he,”
and lay staring up at him in startled silence, till he stooped and kissed her.
Then she knew him, and flew up, crying joyfully…
“Oh my Teddy! Oh my Teddy!”
“Dear Jo, you are glad to see me, then?”
“Glad! My blessed boy, words can’t express my gladness. Where’s
Amy?”
“Your mother has got her down at Meg’s. We stopped there by the way,
and there was no getting my wife out of their clutches.”
“Your what?” cried Jo, for Laurie uttered those two words with an
unconscious pride and satisfaction which betrayed him.
“Oh, the dickens! Now I’ve done it,” and he looked so guilty that Jo was
down on him like a flash.
“You’ve gone and got married!”
“Yes, please, but I never will again,” and he went down upon his knees,
with a penitent clasping of hands, and a face full of mischief, mirth, and
triumph.
“Actually married?”
“Very much so, thank you.”
“Mercy on us. What dreadful thing will you do next?” and Jo fell into her
seat with a gasp.
“A characteristic, but not exactly complimentary, congratulation,”
returned Laurie, still in an abject attitude, but beaming with satisfaction.
“What can you expect, when you take one’s breath away, creeping in like
a burglar, and letting cats out of bags like that? Get up, you ridiculous boy,
and tell me all about it.”
“Not a word, unless you let me come in my old place, and promise not to
barricade.”
Jo laughed at that as she had not done for many a long day, and patted the
sofa invitingly, as she said in a cordial tone, “The old pillow is up garret,
and we don’t need it now. So, come and ’fess, Teddy.”
“How good it sounds to hear you say ‘Teddy’! No one ever calls me that
but you,” and Laurie sat down with an air of great content.
“What does Amy call you?”
“My lord.”
“That’s like her. Well, you look it,” and Jo’s eye plainly betrayed that she
found her boy comelier than ever.
The pillow was gone, but there was a barricade, nevertheless, a natural
one, raised by time, absence, and change of heart. Both felt it, and for a
minute looked at one another as if that invisible barrier cast a little shadow
over them. It was gone directly however, for Laurie said, with a vain
attempt at dignity…
“Don’t I look like a married man and the head of a family?”
“Not a bit, and you never will. You’ve grown bigger and bonnier, but you
are the same scapegrace as ever.”
“Now really, Jo, you ought to treat me with more respect,” began Laurie,
who enjoyed it all immensely.
“How can I, when the mere idea of you, married and settled, is so
irresistibly funny that I can’t keep sober!” answered Jo, smiling all over her
face, so infectiously that they had another laugh, and then settled down for a
good talk, quite in the pleasant old fashion.
“It’s no use your going out in the cold to get Amy, for they are all coming
up presently. I couldn’t wait. I wanted to be the one to tell you the grand
surprise, and have ‘first skim’ as we used to say when we squabbled about
the cream.”
“Of course you did, and spoiled your story by beginning at the wrong
end. Now, start right, and tell me how it all happened. I’m pining to know.”
“Well, I did it to please Amy,” began Laurie, with a twinkle that made Jo
exclaim…
“Fib number one. Amy did it to please you. Go on, and tell the truth, if
you can, sir.”
“Now she’s beginning to marm it. Isn’t it jolly to hear her?” said Laurie
to the fire, and the fire glowed and sparkled as if it quite agreed. “It’s all the
same, you know, she and I being one. We planned to come home with the
Carrols, a month or more ago, but they suddenly changed their minds, and
decided to pass another winter in Paris. But Grandpa wanted to come home.
He went to please me, and I couldn’t let him go alone, neither could I leave
Amy, and Mrs. Carrol had got English notions about chaperons and such
nonsense, and wouldn’t let Amy come with us. So I just settled the
difficulty by saying, ‘Let’s be married, and then we can do as we like’.”
“Of course you did. You always have things to suit you.”
“Not always,” and something in Laurie’s voice made Jo say hastily…
“How did you ever get Aunt to agree?”
“It was hard work, but between us, we talked her over, for we had heaps
of good reasons on our side. There wasn’t time to write and ask leave, but
you all liked it, had consented to it by-and-by, and it was only ‘taking time
by the fetlock’, as my wife says.”
“Aren’t we proud of those two words, and don’t we like to say them?”
interrupted Jo, addressing the fire in her turn, and watching with delight the
happy light it seemed to kindle in the eyes that had been so tragically
gloomy when she saw them last.
“A trifle, perhaps, she’s such a captivating little woman I can’t help being
proud of her. Well, then Uncle and Aunt were there to play propriety. We
were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use apart, and that
charming arrangement would make everything easy all round, so we did it.”
“When, where, how?” asked Jo, in a fever of feminine interest and
curiosity, for she could not realize it a particle.
“Six weeks ago, at the American consul’s, in Paris, a very quiet wedding
of course, for even in our happiness we didn’t forget dear little Beth.”
Jo put her hand in his as he said that, and Laurie gently smoothed the
little red pillow, which he remembered well.
“Why didn’t you let us know afterward?” asked Jo, in a quieter tone,
when they had sat quite still a minute.
“We wanted to surprise you. We thought we were coming directly home,
at first, but the dear old gentleman, as soon as we were married, found he
couldn’t be ready under a month, at least, and sent us off to spend our
honeymoon wherever we liked. Amy had once called Valrosa a regular
honeymoon home, so we went there, and were as happy as people are but
once in their lives. My faith! Wasn’t it love among the roses!”
Laurie seemed to forget Jo for a minute, and Jo was glad of it, for the fact
that he told her these things so freely and so naturally assured her that he
had quite forgiven and forgotten. She tried to draw away her hand, but as if
he guessed the thought that prompted the half-involuntary impulse, Laurie
held it fast, and said, with a manly gravity she had never seen in him
before…
“Jo, dear, I want to say one thing, and then we’ll put it by forever. As I
told you in my letter when I wrote that Amy had been so kind to me, I never
shall stop loving you, but the love is altered, and I have learned to see that it
is better as it is. Amy and you changed places in my heart, that’s all. I think
it was meant to be so, and would have come about naturally, if I had waited,
as you tried to make me, but I never could be patient, and so I got a
heartache. I was a boy then, headstrong and violent, and it took a hard
lesson to show me my mistake. For it was one, Jo, as you said, and I found
it out, after making a fool of myself. Upon my word, I was so tumbled up in
my mind, at one time, that I didn’t know which I loved best, you or Amy,
and tried to love you both alike. But I couldn’t, and when I saw her in
Switzerland, everything seemed to clear up all at once. You both got into
your right places, and I felt sure that it was well off with the old love before
it was on with the new, that I could honestly share my heart between sister
Jo and wife Amy, and love them dearly. Will you believe it, and go back to
the happy old times when we first knew one another?”
“I’ll believe it, with all my heart, but, Teddy, we never can be boy and
girl again. The happy old times can’t come back, and we mustn’t expect it.
We are man and woman now, with sober work to do, for playtime is over,
and we must give up frolicking. I’m sure you feel this. I see the change in
you, and you’ll find it in me. I shall miss my boy, but I shall love the man as
much, and admire him more, because he means to be what I hoped he
would. We can’t be little playmates any longer, but we will be brother and
sister, to love and help one another all our lives, won’t we, Laurie?”
He did not say a word, but took the hand she offered him, and laid his
face down on it for a minute, feeling that out of the grave of a boyish
passion, there had risen a beautiful, strong friendship to bless them both.
Presently Jo said cheerfully, for she didn’t want the coming home to be a
sad one, “I can’t make it true that you children are really married and going
to set up housekeeping. Why, it seems only yesterday that I was buttoning
Amy’s pinafore, and pulling your hair when you teased. Mercy me, how
time does fly!”
“As one of the children is older than yourself, you needn’t talk so like a
grandma. I flatter myself I’m a ‘gentleman growed’ as Peggotty said of
David, and when you see Amy, you’ll find her rather a precocious infant,”
said Laurie, looking amused at her maternal air.
“You may be a little older in years, but I’m ever so much older in feeling,
Teddy. Women always are, and this last year has been such a hard one that I
feel forty.”
“Poor Jo! We left you to bear it alone, while we went pleasuring. You are
older. Here’s a line, and there’s another. Unless you smile, your eyes look
sad, and when I touched the cushion, just now, I found a tear on it. You’ve
had a great deal to bear, and had to bear it all alone. What a selfish beast
I’ve been!” and Laurie pulled his own hair, with a remorseful look.
But Jo only turned over the traitorous pillow, and answered, in a tone
which she tried to make more cheerful, “No, I had Father and Mother to
help me, and the dear babies to comfort me, and the thought that you and
Amy were safe and happy, to make the troubles here easier to bear. I am
lonely, sometimes, but I dare say it’s good for me, and…”
“You never shall be again,” broke in Laurie, putting his arm about her, as
if to fence out every human ill. “Amy and I can’t get on without you, so you
must come and teach ‘the children’ to keep house, and go halves in
everything, just as we used to do, and let us pet you, and all be blissfully
happy and friendly together.”
“If I shouldn’t be in the way, it would be very pleasant. I begin to feel
quite young already, for somehow all my troubles seemed to fly away when
you came. You always were a comfort, Teddy,” and Jo leaned her head on
his shoulder, just as she did years ago, when Beth lay ill and Laurie told her
to hold on to him.
He looked down at her, wondering if she remembered the time, but Jo
was smiling to herself, as if in truth her troubles had all vanished at his
coming.
“You are the same Jo still, dropping tears about one minute, and laughing
the next. You look a little wicked now. What is it, Grandma?”
“I was wondering how you and Amy get on together.”
“Like angels!”
“Yes, of course, but which rules?”
“I don’t mind telling you that she does now, at least I let her think so, it
pleases her, you know. By-and-by we shall take turns, for marriage, they
say, halves one’s rights and doubles one’s duties.”
“You’ll go on as you begin, and Amy will rule you all the days of your
life.”
“Well, she does it so imperceptibly that I don’t think I shall mind much.
She is the sort of woman who knows how to rule well. In fact, I rather like
it, for she winds one round her finger as softly and prettily as a skein of silk,
and makes you feel as if she was doing you a favor all the while.”
“That ever I should live to see you a henpecked husband and enjoying
it!” cried Jo, with uplifted hands.
It was good to see Laurie square his shoulders, and smile with masculine
scorn at that insinuation, as he replied, with his “high and mighty” air,
“Amy is too well-bred for that, and I am not the sort of man to submit to it.
My wife and I respect ourselves and one another too much ever to tyrannize
or quarrel.”
Jo liked that, and thought the new dignity very becoming, but the boy
seemed changing very fast into the man, and regret mingled with her
pleasure.
“I am sure of that. Amy and you never did quarrel as we used to. She is
the sun and I the wind, in the fable, and the sun managed the man best, you
remember.”
“She can blow him up as well as shine on him,” laughed Laurie. “Such a
lecture as I got at Nice! I give you my word it was a deal worse than any of
your scoldings, a regular rouser. I’ll tell you all about it sometime, she
never will, because after telling me that she despised and was ashamed of
me, she lost her heart to the despicable party and married the good-for-
nothing.”
“What baseness! Well, if she abuses you, come to me, and I’ll defend
you.”
“I look as if I needed it, don’t I?” said Laurie, getting up and striking an
attitude which suddenly changed from the imposing to the rapturous, as
Amy’s voice was heard calling, “Where is she? Where’s my dear old Jo?”
In trooped the whole family, and everyone was hugged and kissed all
over again, and after several vain attempts, the three wanderers were set
down to be looked at and exulted over. Mr. Laurence, hale and hearty as
ever, was quite as much improved as the others by his foreign tour, for the
crustiness seemed to be nearly gone, and the old-fashioned courtliness had
received a polish which made it kindlier than ever. It was good to see him
beam at ‘my children’, as he called the young pair. It was better still to see
Amy pay him the daughterly duty and affection which completely won his
old heart, and best of all, to watch Laurie revolve about the two, as if never
tired of enjoying the pretty picture they made.
The minute she put her eyes upon Amy, Meg became conscious that her
own dress hadn’t a Parisian air, that young Mrs. Moffat would be entirely
eclipsed by young Mrs. Laurence, and that ‘her ladyship’ was altogether a
most elegant and graceful woman. Jo thought, as she watched the pair,
“How well they look together! I was right, and Laurie has found the
beautiful, accomplished girl who will become his home better than clumsy
old Jo, and be a pride, not a torment to him.” Mrs. March and her husband
smiled and nodded at each other with happy faces, for they saw that their
youngest had done well, not only in worldly things, but the better wealth of
love, confidence, and happiness.
For Amy’s face was full of the soft brightness which betokens a peaceful
heart, her voice had a new tenderness in it, and the cool, prim carriage was
changed to a gentle dignity, both womanly and winning. No little
affectations marred it, and the cordial sweetness of her manner was more
charming than the new beauty or the old grace, for it stamped her at once
with the unmistakable sign of the true gentlewoman she had hoped to
become.
“Love has done much for our little girl,” said her mother softly.
“She has had a good example before her all her life, my dear,” Mr. March
whispered back, with a loving look at the worn face and gray head beside
him.
Daisy found it impossible to keep her eyes off her ‘pitty aunty’, but
attached herself like a lap dog to the wonderful chatelaine full of delightful
charms. Demi paused to consider the new relationship before he
compromised himself by the rash acceptance of a bribe, which took the
tempting form of a family of wooden bears from Berne. A flank movement
produced an unconditional surrender, however, for Laurie knew where to
have him.
“Young man, when I first had the honor of making your acquaintance you
hit me in the face. Now I demand the satisfaction of a gentleman,” and with
that the tall uncle proceeded to toss and tousle the small nephew in a way
that damaged his philosophical dignity as much as it delighted his boyish
soul.
“Blest if she ain’t in silk from head to foot; ain’t it a relishin’ sight to see
her settin’ there as fine as a fiddle, and hear folks calling little Amy ‘Mis.
Laurence!’” muttered old Hannah, who could not resist frequent “peeks”
through the slide as she set the table in a most decidedly promiscuous
manner.
Mercy on us, how they did talk! first one, then the other, then all burst
out together—trying to tell the history of three years in half an hour. It was
fortunate that tea was at hand, to produce a lull and provide refreshment—
for they would have been hoarse and faint if they had gone on much longer.
Such a happy procession as filed away into the little dining room! Mr.
March proudly escorted Mrs. Laurence. Mrs. March as proudly leaned on
the arm of ‘my son’. The old gentleman took Jo, with a whispered, “You
must be my girl now,” and a glance at the empty corner by the fire, that
made Jo whisper back, “I’ll try to fill her place, sir.”
The twins pranced behind, feeling that the millennium was at hand, for
everyone was so busy with the newcomers that they were left to revel at
their own sweet will, and you may be sure they made the most of the
opportunity. Didn’t they steal sips of tea, stuff gingerbread ad libitum, get a
hot biscuit apiece, and as a crowning trespass, didn’t they each whisk a
captivating little tart into their tiny pockets, there to stick and crumble
treacherously, teaching them that both human nature and a pastry are frail?
Burdened with the guilty consciousness of the sequestered tarts, and fearing
that Dodo’s sharp eyes would pierce the thin disguise of cambric and
merino which hid their booty, the little sinners attached themselves to
‘Dranpa’, who hadn’t his spectacles on. Amy, who was handed about like
refreshments, returned to the parlor on Father Laurence’s arm. The others
paired off as before, and this arrangement left Jo companionless. She did
not mind it at the minute, for she lingered to answer Hannah’s eager inquiry.
“Will Miss Amy ride in her coop (coupe), and use all them lovely silver
dishes that’s stored away over yander?”
“Shouldn’t wonder if she drove six white horses, ate off gold plate, and
wore diamonds and point lace every day. Teddy thinks nothing too good for
her,” returned Jo with infinite satisfaction.
“No more there is! Will you have hash or fishballs for breakfast?” asked
Hannah, who wisely mingled poetry and prose.
“I don’t care,” and Jo shut the door, feeling that food was an uncongenial
topic just then. She stood a minute looking at the party vanishing above,
and as Demi’s short plaid legs toiled up the last stair, a sudden sense of
loneliness came over her so strongly that she looked about her with dim
eyes, as if to find something to lean upon, for even Teddy had deserted her.
If she had known what birthday gift was coming every minute nearer and
nearer, she would not have said to herself, “I’ll weep a little weep when I go
to bed. It won’t do to be dismal now.” Then she drew her hand over her
eyes, for one of her boyish habits was never to know where her
handkerchief was, and had just managed to call up a smile when there came
a knock at the porch door.
She opened with hospitable haste, and started as if another ghost had
come to surprise her, for there stood a tall bearded gentleman, beaming on
her from the darkness like a midnight sun.
“Oh, Mr. Bhaer, I am so glad to see you!” cried Jo, with a clutch, as if she
feared the night would swallow him up before she could get him in.
“And I to see Miss Marsch, but no, you haf a party,” and the Professor
paused as the sound of voices and the tap of dancing feet came down to
them.
“No, we haven’t, only the family. My sister and friends have just come
home, and we are all very happy. Come in, and make one of us.”
Though a very social man, I think Mr. Bhaer would have gone
decorously away, and come again another day, but how could he, when Jo
shut the door behind him, and bereft him of his hat? Perhaps her face had
something to do with it, for she forgot to hide her joy at seeing him, and
showed it with a frankness that proved irresistible to the solitary man,
whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes.
“If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop, I will so gladly see them all. You haf
been ill, my friend?”
He put the question abruptly, for, as Jo hung up his coat, the light fell on
her face, and he saw a change in it.
“Not ill, but tired and sorrowful. We have had trouble since I saw you
last.”
“Ah, yes, I know. My heart was sore for you when I heard that,” and he
shook hands again, with such a sympathetic face that Jo felt as if no comfort
could equal the look of the kind eyes, the grasp of the big, warm hand.
“Father, Mother, this is my friend, Professor Bhaer,” she said, with a face
and tone of such irrepressible pride and pleasure that she might as well have
blown a trumpet and opened the door with a flourish.
If the stranger had any doubts about his reception, they were set at rest in
a minute by the cordial welcome he received. Everyone greeted him kindly,
for Jo’s sake at first, but very soon they liked him for his own. They could
not help it, for he carried the talisman that opens all hearts, and these simple
people warmed to him at once, feeling even the more friendly because he
was poor. For poverty enriches those who live above it, and is a sure
passport to truly hospitable spirits. Mr. Bhaer sat looking about him with
the air of a traveler who knocks at a strange door, and when it opens, finds
himself at home. The children went to him like bees to a honeypot, and
establishing themselves on each knee, proceeded to captivate him by rifling
his pockets, pulling his beard, and investigating his watch, with juvenile
audacity. The women telegraphed their approval to one another, and Mr.
March, feeling that he had got a kindred spirit, opened his choicest stores
for his guest’s benefit, while silent John listened and enjoyed the talk, but
said not a word, and Mr. Laurence found it impossible to go to sleep.
If Jo had not been otherwise engaged, Laurie’s behavior would have
amused her, for a faint twinge, not of jealousy, but something like
suspicion, caused that gentleman to stand aloof at first, and observe the
newcomer with brotherly circumspection. But it did not last long. He got
interested in spite of himself, and before he knew it, was drawn into the
circle. For Mr. Bhaer talked well in this genial atmosphere, and did himself
justice. He seldom spoke to Laurie, but he looked at him often, and a
shadow would pass across his face, as if regretting his own lost youth, as he
watched the young man in his prime. Then his eyes would turn to Jo so
wistfully that she would have surely answered the mute inquiry if she had
seen it. But Jo had her own eyes to take care of, and feeling that they could
not be trusted, she prudently kept them on the little sock she was knitting,
like a model maiden aunt.
A stealthy glance now and then refreshed her like sips of fresh water after
a dusty walk, for the sidelong peeps showed her several propitious omens.
Mr. Bhaer’s face had lost the absent-minded expression, and looked all
alive with interest in the present moment, actually young and handsome,
she thought, forgetting to compare him with Laurie, as she usually did
strange men, to their great detriment. Then he seemed quite inspired, though
the burial customs of the ancients, to which the conversation had strayed,
might not be considered an exhilarating topic. Jo quite glowed with triumph
when Teddy got quenched in an argument, and thought to herself, as she
watched her father’s absorbed face, “How he would enjoy having such a
man as my Professor to talk with every day!” Lastly, Mr. Bhaer was dressed
in a new suit of black, which made him look more like a gentleman than
ever. His bushy hair had been cut and smoothly brushed, but didn’t stay in
order long, for in exciting moments, he rumpled it up in the droll way he
used to do, and Jo liked it rampantly erect better than flat, because she
thought it gave his fine forehead a Jove-like aspect. Poor Jo, how she did
glorify that plain man, as she sat knitting away so quietly, yet letting
nothing escape her, not even the fact that Mr. Bhaer actually had gold
sleeve-buttons in his immaculate wristbands.
“Dear old fellow! He couldn’t have got himself up with more care if he’d
been going a-wooing,” said Jo to herself, and then a sudden thought born of
the words made her blush so dreadfully that she had to drop her ball, and go
down after it to hide her face.
The maneuver did not succeed as well as she expected, however, for
though just in the act of setting fire to a funeral pyre, the Professor dropped
his torch, metaphorically speaking, and made a dive after the little blue ball.
Of course they bumped their heads smartly together, saw stars, and both
came up flushed and laughing, without the ball, to resume their seats,
wishing they had not left them.
Nobody knew where the evening went to, for Hannah skillfully
abstracted the babies at an early hour, nodding like two rosy poppies, and
Mr. Laurence went home to rest. The others sat round the fire, talking away,
utterly regardless of the lapse of time, till Meg, whose maternal mind was
impressed with a firm conviction that Daisy had tumbled out of bed, and
Demi set his nightgown afire studying the structure of matches, made a
move to go.
“We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together
again once more,” said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe and
pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.
They were not all there. But no one found the words thoughtless or
untrue, for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, invisible,
but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league that
love made dissoluble. The little chair stood in its old place. The tidy basket,
with the bit of work she left unfinished when the needle grew ‘so heavy’,
was still on its accustomed shelf. The beloved instrument, seldom touched
now had not been moved, and above it Beth’s face, serene and smiling, as in
the early days, looked down upon them, seeming to say, “Be happy. I am
here.”
“Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved,”
said Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.
But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, “Not
tonight, dear. I can’t show off tonight.”
But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she sang
Beth’s songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master could
not have taught, and touched the listener’s hearts with a sweeter power than
any other inspiration could have given her. The room was very still, when
the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line of Beth’s favorite hymn. It
was hard to say…
Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal;
and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that her
welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth’s kiss.
“Now, we must finish with Mignon’s song, for Mr. Bhaer sings that,”
said Jo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat
with a gratified “Hem!” as he stepped into the corner where Jo stood,
saying…
“You will sing with me? We go excellently well together.”
A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than a
grasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a
whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune. It
didn’t much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true German, heartily and
well, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen to the
mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.
Know’st thou the land where the citron blooms,
used to be the Professor’s favorite line, for ‘das land’ meant Germany to
him, but now he seemed to dwell, with peculiar warmth and melody, upon
the words…
There, oh there, might I with thee,
O, my beloved, go
and one listener was so thrilled by the tender invitation that she longed to
say she did know the land, and would joyfully depart thither whenever he
liked.
The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered
with laurels. But a few minutes afterward, he forgot his manners entirely,
and stared at Amy putting on her bonnet, for she had been introduced
simply as ‘my sister’, and no one had called her by her new name since he
came. He forgot himself still further when Laurie said, in his most gracious
manner, at parting…
“My wife and I are very glad to meet you, sir. Please remember that there
is always a welcome waiting for you over the way.”
Then the Professor thanked him so heartily, and looked so suddenly
illuminated with satisfaction, that Laurie thought him the most delightfully
demonstrative old fellow he ever met.
“I too shall go, but I shall gladly come again, if you will gif me leave,
dear madame, for a little business in the city will keep me here some days.”
He spoke to Mrs. March, but he looked at Jo, and the mother’s voice
gave as cordial an assent as did the daughter’s eyes, for Mrs. March was not
so blind to her children’s interest as Mrs. Moffat supposed.
“I suspect that is a wise man,” remarked Mr. March, with placid
satisfaction, from the hearthrug, after the last guest had gone.
“I know he is a good one,” added Mrs. March, with decided approval, as
she wound up the clock.
“I thought you’d like him,” was all Jo said, as she slipped away to her
bed.
She wondered what the business was that brought Mr. Bhaer to the city,
and finally decided that he had been appointed to some great honor,
somewhere, but had been too modest to mention the fact. If she had seen his
face when, safe in his own room, he looked at the picture of a severe and
rigid young lady, with a good deal of hair, who appeared to be gazing
darkly into futurity, it might have thrown some light upon the subject,
especially when he turned off the gas, and kissed the picture in the dark.
