Little Women and Me

Nine


I needed to find out what a fortnight was.

It had been making me crazy for years. Why hadn’t I ever looked it up before?

I’d come across the term when reading Little Women when I was eight and I’d been puzzled by it, so I’d asked my mother. She’d said, “Look it up in the dictionary!” And I’d automatically assumed her advice really meant “I have no idea!” and I’d of course failed to look it up, coming up with my own definition. I’d figured a fortnight referred to four nights, something like a long weekend. Fortnight. Four nights. It made sense to me.

But now as I watched Meg pack what the others termed the “go abroady” trunk for a fortnight at the Moffats’, and I observed all the junk she put in that trunk, it struck me that my definition couldn’t possibly be right. A fortnight had to be longer than four nights …

It would have been nice if there were a dictionary handy, and with Jo being such a great writer, you’d think there would have been, but I’d long since become aware that whenever I wanted a particular thing, it was impossible to find it in the March household. So I did the next best thing: I pulled Beth aside from the others. It’s not like Beth was known for her brain power, but at least she could be counted on not to laugh in my face if I asked what the others thought a stupid question.

“A fortnight is fourteen days,” Beth whispered, “or some people think of it as two weeks, but it is somewhere in there.”

What was wrong with these people? They expanded “fifty” to the lengthier “half a hundred” while compressing the precise “fourteen days” to the confusing “fortnight.” Why couldn’t they be straightforward for once?

That was when Beth laughed straightforwardly in my face.

“Silly Emily!” she said between giggles.

Silly Emily? Seriously, Beth?

I was used to the others laughing at me at various times—or casting aspersions on my character by implying I wasn’t the sort of person who’d save my own sister’s life when she’d fallen through a crack in the ice—but never Beth. In fact, I was so stunned by her outburst, I couldn’t reply at all.

“I’m sorry,” Beth said, at last managing to gain control of herself, “but don’t you realize that I can see what you’re up to?”

“Up to?”

“Why, yes! You are asking me a question that everyone knows the answer to, while pretending you do not.”

“And, er, why am I doing that?”

“Why, to make me feel just as intelligent as the others, of course! You know that I am shy about my lack of book learning, and you want to make me feel as smart as anyone else.” She gave a happy sigh before turning serious. “That is so like you: always looking to do the kind thing.”

I was getting credit for being kind? Coolio! “Yes, well, kind.” It made me feel suddenly guilty that Beth thought of me that way, when all I cared about now was figuring out the meanings of terms I had no clue about. “I don’t know about that. But while we’re on the subject, could you tell me what a tarlatan is?” I’d heard Meg say something about packing hers.

“Silly Emily!” She started to laugh again. “There you go again, being kind!”

“Yes, heh, there I go.”



It turned out that a tarlatan was a type of fabric, in this case referring to a slightly shabby-looking gown Meg intended using as her “ball dress.” It was obvious Meg wanted something finer—apparently the Moffats were very wealthy compared to us—but there just wasn’t enough money.

“Anyway,” Jo said cheerfully, “Marmee has given you so many things from the treasure-box, I wouldn’t think you’d mind so much wearing an old dress to the big party, since so much else of what you’ll have on that night will be new. Well, at least to you.”

The treasure-box—I’d been able to figure that out without resorting to pumping Beth—was an old cedar chest where Marmee had a few things to give to each of us when she thought the time was right. I was very curious about that chest. Since Marmee sometimes forgot there were five of us, not four, was there really anything for me in there?

“Marmee says that fresh flowers are the perfect ornament for any girl anyway,” Amy said to Meg, “so isn’t it wonderful that Laurie has promised to send you some while you are at the Moffats’? I’ll bet the other girls will be green with envy!”

Wait a second here. Laurie stood guard while Beth played the piano, he took Jo to the theater and skating, and now he was sending flowers to Meg? Off the top of my head I couldn’t think of any particular favor he’d shown Amy, but just what was going on here? When was Laurie going to romance me?

But I didn’t have time to wonder about that anymore because Meg was fretting over her material things not being perfect.

For the second time that day, Beth did something surprising. She got a little PO’ed.

“Just the other day all you wanted in the world was to be allowed to go to Annie Moffat’s,” Beth said, “and now, even though Marmee has given you new gloves and silk stockings, it still isn’t enough?”

“Yeah!” I agreed forcefully. I found myself liking Beth’s slightly skewed perception of the world with me cast in the role of kindness while Meg was an ingrate.

If Jo had to work on her temper, Beth her shyness, and Amy her vanity, Meg definitely had to work on that dissatisfaction thing of hers.

Perhaps sensing that dissatisfaction, the other three began exclaiming over the pretty things Marmee had given Meg and talking about all the fun and parties and new experiences she would have on her fortnight away.

Fun. Parties. New experiences.

Suddenly I had to get out of that room.

The others were too busy squeeing to notice my quiet exit. As I gently closed the door behind me, I saw Marmee standing across the hallway.

“Talk with me for a while, Emily?” she requested.

How could I refuse? It wasn’t like back home, where I could say: “Not now, Mom, maybe later.”

She led me to the small living room, took her special seat before the fireplace.

“I am very worried about Meg,” she said, “but without Papa here, there is no one else I can confide in but you.”

Whoa! Since when was I someone anyone could confide in?

“You know,” Marmee went on, “I was reluctant to allow Meg to go to the Moffats’ in the first place.”

“Well, yes,” I said, “with her being gone for a whole … fortnight, the King children will be neglected for two weeks unless I go to them myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Meg’s job,” Marmee said. “But yes, you are right: you will have to go.”

Rats.

“No,” she continued, “it’s that I fear this time away, being exposed to the Moffats’ grander lifestyle, Meg will return even more discontented with her life here than when she left.”

Grander lifestyle? Suddenly, I wanted more than anything in the world to be where there would be fun and parties and new experiences.

“I have a solution!” I offered eagerly.

Marmee waited expectantly.

“I could go with Meg!”

“Of course you can’t. You weren’t invited. Jo wasn’t even invited.”

“Well”—I hurried to think of some useful purpose I could serve—“I could act as lady’s maid to Meg, helping her dress her hair and things like that. Remember that ponytail I gave Amy that time?”

Funny. She didn’t look impressed.

“I’m sure all the Moffats have their own ladies’ maids,” I rushed on. I was sure of no such thing, but what the heck? “I wouldn’t want Meg to do without. Plus, it would be good training for me—you know, to learn the ropes so I know what to do when I’m old enough to attend house parties.”

Would I still be here in a few years? I shuddered at the thought. It was already spring.

“ ‘Learn the ropes’?” Marmee echoed. “Sometimes, Emily, you say the strangest things. And while your offer is tempting …”

Please say yes! Say yes!

“… I’m afraid I must say no.”

I could feel my face fall.

“It was a kind offer, Emily, but I fear that Meg must learn to conquer her discontent on her own. Besides …” She paused. “… you’ll be too busy taking care of the King children.”

I felt outraged. Hey, this woman wasn’t my mother. She wasn’t the boss of me!

But I couldn’t tell her that.



Wretched King children!

Wretched stupid everything!

I had to finally admit it: my chief problem in life, the one I needed to work on in a Pilgrim’s Progress sort of way, was jealousy. Sometimes it seemed as though I was jealous of everybody and everything: jealous of Meg’s opportunity in going to the Moffats’, jealous of Amy’s pretty blondness, jealous of Jo’s writing—specifically the fact that she’d done more of it than I had—plus her friendship with Laurie, even jealous of the tender way everyone treated Beth.

“Doesn’t it bother you,” I said to Jo a few days after Meg’s departure, “Meg getting to go to the Moffats’ while you and I have to stay here? After all, we are almost as old as she is.”

“Bother me?” Jo looked startled. “Of course I’m not bothered. I hate parties and getting dressed up. Why should I mind someone else getting something, especially when I don’t even want that something for myself?”

Apparently, I was the only March sister to be plagued by jealousy.

In fact, the others seemed just as happy to rely on their imaginations as they would have been to go to the house party in the first place. Just like when Meg and Jo had gone to the New Year’s party at the Gardiners’, leaving me behind with Beth and Amy, the other three now spent their evenings discussing what they were sure Meg must be doing right that second.

“I’ve heard,” Amy said, “that one of the older Moffat girls, Belle, is engaged. I’ll bet Meg finds that extremely interesting and romantic. I know I would.”

“I hope Meg isn’t feeling too badly,” Beth said with a worried frown, “that her dresses are somewhat shabby compared to those of the other girls.”

“Well, she won’t feel bad for long,” Jo said. “Laurie told me he was sending her a box with roses, heath, and ferns in it for the small party tonight.”

“Doesn’t anyone else find it strange,” I said, “how much attention Laurie spends on each of us?”

The others stared at me as though I’d said the oddest thing in the world. Apparently I was the only one who found Laurie’s behavior strange.

“You’re not going to bring up the pact again, are you?” Jo said witheringly. Then she shook her head as though shaking off my peculiar words. “I’ll bet it’ll be like Amy said before—the other girls will be green with envy over Laurie’s flowers. But if I know our Meg, she’ll play a trick on them. She’ll pretend they’re from the old man, Mr. Laurence.”

I wasn’t sure what was so funny about a sixteen-year-old girl pretending a man old enough to be her grandfather was sending her flowers, but the others apparently found it a hoot, because they started laughing.

“The ball is going to be a week from Thursday,” Amy said with a wistful sigh.

Now that I understood. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall.



Every now and then, a person gets what she asks for. In this case, I got to be a fly on the wall at the ball, although not in the way I’d imagined.

The Moffat girls were so impressed with the flowers Laurie sent Meg, Belle Moffat sent Laurie an invitation to the ball. Laurie’s initial inclination was to decline politely—he said he didn’t like dressy parties any more than Jo did—but Jo convinced him. Jo, who never seemed to care at all what she herself looked like, wanted him to report back on how Meg looked.

And Laurie consented, just like that.

It would be nice, I thought, thinking of Jackson, to get guys to do what you wanted them to do.

The day after the ball was a Friday, which worked out well for me, Friday being the day I had free from my jack-of-all-trades work. While Jo grumbled off to Aunt March’s, and Amy and Beth stayed behind in the house to work on their lessons and do housework, I practically skipped across the newly green lawn to the Laurence estate and knocked loudly on the door.

I hadn’t been over by myself since that … last time, and at first Laurie looked vaguely shocked to see me standing there. I wondered if he was scared I’d try to kiss him again.

My concern grew when he tried to shut the door in my face.

“I’m not going to try to kiss you again!” Or at least not today, I mentally added as I pushed back forcefully against the door.

Laurie stopped trying to shut the door so abruptly, that with no resistance anymore, I immediately fell at his feet. As he reached out a polite hand to help me up, I saw he was blushing.

“Of course I wasn’t worried about that,” he said. “I know you will never do such a thing again.”

A lot you know, I thought.

“It’s only,” he went on, “that I promised Meg I wouldn’t say anything to anyone about last night.”

If that wasn’t catnip …

“You have to tell me now!” I said.

“Oh no, I mustn’t!” he said.

“But you can’t say something like that and not expect me to ask any questions.”

“But a promise is a promise. And Meg made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone at home.”

I had an inspiration. Grabbing on to his arm, I tugged him outside.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

But I didn’t answer. I just kept tugging.

“There,” I said, satisfied with myself now that I’d tugged him so far across the lawn, we stood exactly in the center between our two houses.

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Laurie said, “although I just did—follow you, that is, but that was only because you tugged me so hard.”

“There’s your home,” I said with a nod in one direction, “and there’s mine.” I nodded in the other direction. “Since neither of us is technically at home right now, then there’s no reason why you can’t tell me what Meg didn’t want you to tell anybody.”

“Well, while I suppose that might be literally true—”

“Besides which, I’m not anybody. I’m just Emily. I won’t say a word, and it’s not like anyone listens to me anyway.”

“Yes, well—”

“Spill, Laurie.”

“Spill? Is that another new word you invented?”

I simply waited, hands on my hips.

“Very well.” He sighed, then: “It was awful, I tell you!”

“What was?”

“Meg! They had her dressed up like a, like a … doll. There were high-heeled silk boots to match the blue silk gown Belle insisted she wear. The dress was so tight she could hardly breathe, the train so long she could barely walk. They put makeup all over her, crimped her hair … and the neckline on the dress!” He blushed again. “It was so low, they put tea-rose buds in her … bosom… and her shoulders were bare!”

That didn’t sound much like prim Meg.

“And as for the young gentlemen!” Laurie said.

“Yes? What about them?”

“They were begging introductions and lining up to dance with her when I showed up!”

After the practically guy-free months I’d spent in the March household, that sounded awesome.

“And the worst was that after I told her I didn’t care for the way she looked, that I didn’t care for fuss and feathers, and after she made me promise not to tell any of you, saying she’d tell you all herself, after all of that, later on I saw her drinking champagne with Ned Moffat and his friend Fisher. And even after I made it clear I disapproved, she kept drinking!”

“There, there.” I made vague patting gestures with my hand on his arm, meanwhile thinking of how much I’d learned in the past few minutes:

One, Laurie could talk a blue streak when he wanted to, and he was a little priggish about certain things.

Two, when let off her leash, Meg was something of a tarty lush—so that’s what the March girls were really like when readers weren’t looking!

Three, Laurie really didn’t like fuss and feathers, not at all. I figured this knowledge would serve me well in my romantic war against Jo for Laurie’s heart. And I still did want to win his heart. In a weird way, it was insanely cute how worked up he was getting on Meg’s behalf. Back home, if a girl’s neckline was so low you could see her … bosom, the only thing any guy might say would be “Lower! Lower!”

“Oh!” Laurie added, newly outraged. “I almost forgot: the Moffats nicknamed Meg ‘Daisy,’ of all things. Can you believe it? Daisy!”

Four, Laurie had something against nicknames, unless it was his own.

Oh, and five, I had the power to get Laurie to spill secrets.



Meg returned the next day, Saturday. She looked ragged and I thought she might be suffering from a hangover. Champagne’ll do that to a girl. Or so I’d heard.

Meg said she was happy to be home, even if home was unspectacular.

Marmee let that “unspectacular” pass.

But once Beth and Amy went to bed, Marmee was all ears, which was good, since Meg was suddenly all mouth.

“It was awful!” Meg echoed Laurie’s words to me from the day before. Then she confessed about the dress. “But that wasn’t the worst part. Oh no. The worst part was that at one point I heard Mrs. Moffat telling her girls how smart you are, Marmee, how you had such plans for us girls, chief among which was that we should all be kind to Laurie because he is rich, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if he married one of us!”

Well, when she put it like that, it didn’t sound like such a very awful idea. I mean, someone had to marry him.

“I would like to confront Annie Moffat!” Jo sprang from her chair.

Geez. What a hothead.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Marmee said.

“Marmee’s right,” Meg said, going on to add something about how she’d forget the bad, only remembering the good—HA! I thought. As if that ever worked for anybody!—and that she wouldn’t be dissatisfied with her life any longer.

HA! again. I’d heard that kind of talk before. I’d talked that kind of talk before. I’d never been able to follow through, though.

“Of course, I must admit,” Meg said, “I did like being praised and admired.”

And cue the violins for a Marmee Speech …

It turned out that Marmee wanted Meg to be modest as well as pretty but that further, she did indeed have plans for us:

“… to be loved and chosen by a good man is the best and sweetest thing which can happen to a woman”—No wonder, I thought, girls get so guy-gaga they’ll do almost anything to get one; it’s because of stupid books like Little Women!—“but if it doesn’t work out that way …”

Hey, what if I turned out to be the lesbian March girl? I bet that would screw up their story!

Never mind that, though.

Would it ever work out for me in the way that Marmee described?