Little Women and Me

Twelve


Beth had been appointed our postmistress, meaning it was her job to unlock the little door in the box Laurie installed and then distribute our mail. She’d been appointed because she was the one who spent the most time at home. Also, because we felt sorry for her, having so little in her life that most people would find exciting and feeling that such an important job would mean a lot to her. Also, because some of us were hoping to wean her away from that wretched Joanna doll.

Okay, that last was me.

On that day in July, when Beth entered the house with the mail, her arms were filled to overflowing. My, we were a popular group!

“Here’s the nosegay for Marmee that Laurie always sends,” Beth announced as she began distributing the mail.

HA! What a kiss-up Laurie could be at times.

“Here’s one letter and one glove for Meg.” Beth handed the items over.

The letter was from Mr. Brooke, Laurie’s tutor, translating a song from German that Meg had requested. As for that single glove, it was a puzzle, since Meg claimed to have left two at the Laurence house.

HA! I thought about the single glove. I didn’t really know what the single glove meant, but it was odd and did seem as though it could be HA!-worthy.

“Two letters for Jo, a book, plus a funny old hat from Laurie so she won’t burn her face.” Beth looked relieved to be rid of so much of the mail burden in one shot.

HA! But then I realized there was nothing to HA! about. Instead, I was resentful: Jo always got the most mail, plus I needed that hat more than she did. I was the one with the fair skin that always burned.

One of Jo’s letters was from Marmee, congratulating Jo on the good progress she’d been making in controlling her temper.

HA! Her efforts to control her temper—Marmee hadn’t been there that day in the rowboat when Jo had tried to throttle Laurie.

Jo’s other letter was from the boy she’d tried to throttle. Laurie wrote that he had some English boys and girls visiting the next day—friends he’d made abroad—and he wanted the March girls to join them all at Longmeadow, where a tent would be pitched, a fire lit, lunch eaten, and croquet played. He also said that Mr. Brooke would be going along to keep the boys in line, while Kate Vaughn, the oldest of the English girls, would be in charge of the rest of us.

Jo insisted Marmee must let us go, claiming that she, Jo, could be such a help to Laurie with the rowing—HA! She hadn’t rowed a single row that day on the lake—and Marmee agreed.

“Amy’s got chocolate drops here,” Beth said, continuing with the mail distribution, “and a picture she wanted to copy, while I’ve got an invitation from Mr. Laurence to come play the piano for him tonight before the lights are lit.” Beth gave a happy little sigh, although I couldn’t see what was so happy-making about the idea of playing piano in the dark.

HA! Who wanted to eat chocolate drops?

HA! Who cared about playing some stupid piano anyway?

The others continued cheerfully studying the items that had come to them through the post office, while I stood there.

“Ahem,” I said.

The others finally looked at me.

“Isn’t there anything else?” I said. “From the post office, I mean.”

Spreading her arms wide, Beth revealed their emptiness. “What else could there be?” she said with a puzzled frown.

“Ohhhh, never mind,” I grumbled.



But I wasn’t grumbling when I got up in the morning. Instead, I was actually excited about the day ahead.

Something new and different to do—coolio!

Then I saw what my sisters had been up to overnight.

OMG.

Meg had put curling papers all over her head, like the heat and humidity wouldn’t drag any curls straight down. Jo was slathered in cold cream—she looked ridiculous, like a not-too-scary movie monster. Amy had a clothespin on her nose—nineteenth-century cosmetic surgery!

Well, I thought, I may not have had any mail the day before, but at least I didn’t have any of their peculiar grooming habits.

As for Beth, she never cared what she looked like. But she did have her own fetish. She’d spent the night cuddling the headless and limbless Joanna.

“I wanted to atone in advance for our day’s separation,” she told me as the others pranced and preened.

Oh brother. Apparently, she was still feeling guilty about Pip’s death and was worried that the day’s separation would result in a similar fate for her doll as that which had befallen her bird.

I was tempted to explain to her that it wasn’t the same thing at all. But there was no point in telling that to Beth, I realized as I watched her croon over the doll. It would only hurt her.

“You’re a good girl, Bethie,” I said. “Joanna’s lucky to have you and I’m sure she’ll still be … alive and well when we return.”



Beth and I may not have had anything in common in terms of our feelings about dolls, but we did share one thing. Neither of us liked to fuss over our appearance, so we were ready long before the others.

As we stood outside waiting, I wondered: If Beth and I shared an indifference to fashion, what qualities did I share with my other sisters?

Meg was prim, to the point of being boring. I was nothing like that. Would a prim girl be the March family skank? Amy was vain to the point of absurdity. Nope. Nothing like that either. Look at the shabby clothes I’d been willing to wear to impress Laurie with my lack of vanity. As for Jo: HA! We had even less in common than I had with any of the others.

Just then Meg, Amy, and Jo came spilling out of the house.

“Emily, do you think you could at least make an effort to be presentable?” Jo snapped at me.

“Don’t you think that hat Laurie gave you makes you look ridiculous?” I snapped back at her. “You look like you’re wearing an umbrella attached to your head.”

Honestly. Jo and I were nothing alike.



Kate Vaughn was so prim, she out-primmed Meg, I thought once we were all gathered on Laurie’s lawn. Was that a lorgnette she occasionally placed over her eye? The only other person I’d ever seen use one was Aunt March. Kate had three siblings with her: Frank and Fred, Jo’s age—Fred was wild, while Frank was lame, causing Beth to be extra-kind to him—and Grace, around nine or ten, who immediately latched on to Amy. It was obvious that Laurie liked the boys but didn’t have much use for Kate. Well, who could blame him?

Making up the rest of our party were Ned and Sallie Moffat. Meg looked happy to see Sallie there, but less so about Ned. Maybe she was still embarrassed over her flowers-in-her-bosom drunk-on-champagne display?

As for Laurie, he was dressed up in a sailor costume. A sailor costume? I tried to convince myself it was cool in a retro sort of way, but it was too much of a stretch.

Then we were all being herded into boats and we were off to Longmeadow.

Laurie rechristened Longmeadow “Camp Laurence” and when we arrived there, I saw that someone had set up the tent, arranged wickets for croquet, and deposited hampers of food.

Before anything else, it was decided that a game of croquet must be played.

Well, I didn’t decide that. It was Laurie, egged on by Jo. Didn’t any of the others notice how hot it was out here? Maybe if I’d been wearing shorts and a T-shirt it might not have been so bad. But in a long-sleeved, neck-high, grass-length dress and boots? It was awful!

I elected to sit croquet out, taking up a spot under a nice shady tree with the lame and the young.

They chose up teams. On one side were Laurie, Jo, Ned, and Sallie, all Americans, while the other team was a mixture of Mr. Brooke, Meg, Kate, and Fred. In spite of the fact that the opposing team was half American, Jo decided to refight the Revolutionary War.

True, Fred cheated at one point, rather obviously, but it seemed to me little reason for Jo’s nasty remarks, all about American superiority: Americans not cheating, Americans being generous to their enemies even while beating them. HA! was all I could think. Just wait, Jo, until we start screaming “We’re number one!” in the world’s face every few years at the Olympics.

When the war was finally over and it was time to eat, Mr. Brooke asked who could make good coffee.

Jo immediately volunteered.

Double HA! was all I could think. Just because she had a used cookbook, it didn’t mean she’d learned anything from it. And the coffee she made was proof of that.

As the meal drew to a close, I heard Laurie tease Jo, offering her salt to go with her strawberries, and she replied that she preferred spiders, immediately—astonishingly!—locating two and squishing them to death between her fingers.

Gross!

I was all out of HA! s. All I could think was, at least she didn’t eat them.

After lunch, it seemed like a perfect time to me to play croquet. I wouldn’t mind walking around a bit, exercise off some of the food I’d eaten. But none of the others were interested. Wasn’t that just like me? Out of step with everybody else?

Something else was out of step. Laurie had quietly informed me that the real reason he’d brought Mr. Brooke along was as company for Kate, but as far as I could see, the tutor was spending all his time around Meg: choosing her for his croquet team earlier, sitting next to her during lunch, yakking to her about all things German.

Hmm … could there be something going on there? And why didn’t anyone else seem to notice? Looked like maybe my role was that of the observant March sister. Well, when I wasn’t being the completely oblivious March sister like I’d been with Pip.

“Let’s play a game,” Laurie suggested.

“I brought Authors,” Jo offered.

I had no idea what Authors was, but it sounded like it was probably a game involving specialized knowledge. It was probably all about Dickens—or at least Jo would make it so—leaving me to look like an idiot when the only questions I could answer were those about Oliver Twist.

So I was relieved when Kate vetoed the idea with a scathing look at Jo as though playing Authors was just soooo yesterday.

“Well, what do you suggest we play?” Jo demanded of Kate, returning scathing for scathing.

“Rigmarole,” Kate answered simply.

“Yes,” I piped up, agreeing with her, “I know how you feel. Jo is always engaged in confusing and meaningless talk.” I laughed. “I’m often tempted to say ‘rigmarole’ to her too.”

Kate placed her lorgnette over one eye, regarding me closely for the first time. “Rigmarole,” she finally uttered, “is a game.”

Oh, snap.

“Rigmarole,” Kate explained, “is a game where one person begins a story. Then that person talks for as long as he or she likes, halting right before the exciting part, at which point the next person takes over.”

“Huh,” Jo admitted. “That does sound as though it might be fun.”

A lot more fun than Authors! I thought.

“I’ll start,” Mr. Brooke offered before anyone else had the chance.

“There once was a man,” Mr. Brooke began, “who had a …

job. Yes, he did have to work for a living, unlike some of the other people in the town. Also living in this town was a girl he liked—”

“But one of the other people in the town,” Laurie cut into the story enthusiastically, “one of those who didn’t have to work, also liked the girl.” Laurie paused, puzzled. “Or maybe he liked a different girl?” He paused again. “Or maybe even a different girl than that? Or—”

“She got drunk one night at a house party!” Ned cut in exultantly.

“I’d like to meet a girl like that,” Fred said with what could only be described as a leering smile.

“Stop! Stop!” Kate cried, waving her lorgnette at everybody.

I looked around at the others. Meg in particular looked uncomfortable, her cheeks reddening.

“You’re not playing it right!” Kate said. “People are just talking whenever they like, not really building the story at all, not stopping it just shy of truly exciting parts. Besides, so far only the boys have gone but none of the girls.”

“Well, I can remedy that,” Jo said. “There once was a girl who lived in a town, and she liked a boy who—”

“May have been a boy who didn’t work,” Meg cut in, “or may have been a man who did, only—”

“He loved her no matter what her nose looked like,” Amy said, excited. “Which was good because—”

“Noses are meant to be loved,” I said, “only there was just one problem.”

I paused and was surprised that no one else cut in. Instead, they all just stared at me, waiting to hear what the problem was.

“This girl,” I finally went on, “could never be sure if the boy, and I do think he was the boy and not the man, really liked her best, or if it was that other girl instead, or that one, or—”

“Stop!” Kate shouted again. Then she threw her lorgnette down on the grass in disgust. “You Americans are hopeless.”

Looked like Jo wasn’t alone in still fighting the war.

“A game of Truth, anyone?” Sallie suggested cheerfully. “That’s always fun.”



Except when it isn’t, I thought, my hand growing sticky, trapped in the middle of the stack of other hands.

Truth, it turned out, was even worse than Rigmarole.

The way it was played, we stacked up our hands one on top of the other, then a number was selected at random and whoever’s number got called had to answer every question the other players thought to ask.

Lucky me. My number came up first.

“What’s your favorite color?” Amy asked.

That was simple. “Red,” I answered quickly. Then I shook my head, annoyed with myself. “No, it’s green.”

“It wasn’t exactly a trick question,” Jo pointed out.

“Well, it can be.” I shrugged. “I change my mind on these things.”

“Did you even notice Pip existed before his death?” Jo asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” I admitted, not daring to look over at Beth when she let out a little outraged gasp. “But I’m still sorry he’s dead.”

“No one asked you if you’re sorry,” Jo said. “What do you think of Teddy’s sailor costume?”

“You already asked a question.”

“Sallie never set a limit.”

“Fine,” Meg said. “Then it’ll be my question: What do you think of Laurie’s sailor costume?”

Seriously, Meg?

I didn’t want to answer, but I had to, and I had to do it truthfully. Oh, why couldn’t this be Truth or Dare instead of just Truth? I was much better at dares.

Stupid game.

“It’s awful,” I said. “It’s the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen, unless the person wearing it is actually in the navy, and I’m only glad he’s not wearing knee pants. Seriously, he looks about twelve.”

Laurie’s cheeks colored as he gave me a look that said he felt I’d betrayed him. But it wasn’t my fault—the stupid game was called Truth!

“What’s wrong with being twelve?” Amy demanded. “I’ll wager a person can spend the majority of her life being twelve and not mind it.”

What? What a weird thing to say!

“I think that’s enough questions for Emily,” Sallie said diplomatically. “Jo? I believe your number’s next.”

“What do you want most?” Laurie asked her before anyone else could get a question in.

Everyone shut up then. It was as though people sensed there was more behind the question than just the words on the surface. It was as if even Jo—maybe even me—knew what answer Laurie was hoping to get.

“Genius.” Jo finally ended the uncomfortable silence.

“HA!” This time the HA! actually left my body.

“What?” Jo whirled on me.

“Sorry,” I said, still laughing. “I mean, you’re smart enough and everything, but I think you’re a little late for genius.”

“How about Laurie?” Sallie suggested, possibly hoping to nip a sibling skirmish in the bud.

“I don’t have any more questions for Jo at this time,” he said, subdued.

“I didn’t mean that,” Sallie said. “I meant for others to ask you.”

“I’ve got one,” Fred offered mischievously. “Who, Laurie, do you like best?”

I saw Laurie color slightly as he opened his mouth to answer.

Would he say Emily? I dared to hope.

He did look at me first, briefly, considering, but then his eyes veered off and …

And suddenly I realized I had to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. He was going to say “Jo, of course.” He was going to say it because I’d made fun of his sailor costume and because, in spite of Jo saying that “genius” was what she wanted most when he’d probably been secretly hoping she’d say “Laurie,” she was the one who always played hard to get.

I had to stop it from happening. I had to keep those words from exiting his mouth.

“Bee! It’s a bee!” I began shouting, extricating my hand from the tower of hands and running maniacally in circles.

“Bee?” Jo said. “I don’t see any bee!”

“Borrow Kate’s lorgnette then!” I shouted, still running in circles. “Can’t you see? There’s a whole swarm of them!”

Before long, I triggered mass hysteria, everyone running maniacally in circles, including practical Mr. Brooke and lame Frank.

At last, I collapsed on the lawn.

“The danger’s over,” I gasped, waving my hands to indicate the others could stop running too.

“How about a nice game of Authors?” I suggested when all the others had also collapsed. After all my exertion in the heat, I felt practically delirious. “And I’ll even go first. I’ll take Dickens for eight hundred dollars, Alex.”

“What are you taking about, Emily?” Jo demanded.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I only know that if the answer is Bull’s-eye, I’ll stand a chance.”

“You’re making no sense,” Jo said.

“I know,” I admitted.

But one thing did make sense.

I’d prevented Laurie from saying that he liked Jo more than he liked me, that he liked her best. If I could only keep him from ever saying that, I still might stand a chance.



Then Kate was rude to Meg about being a governess; Mr. Brooke stood up for Meg and taught her to read German; Mr. Brooke said Laurie would be off to college next year, making me wonder what a convent-like existence ours would be without him; Mr. Brooke said he’d be off to become a soldier at that time but that he didn’t have a mother or sister to miss him; Amy told Grace we had an old sidesaddle at home that we put over a low-lying apple tree branch to pretend we were riding a horse, proving yet again how odd the March girls were; Amy said she longed to go abroad; Beth was nice to Frank; the party ended and we all went home.

The Vaughns would be off to Canada the next day.

As I lay in bed that night, I felt pleasantly exhausted.

But then I shot up as a disturbing thought struck me.

At some point—a ways off, but still—the story of Little Women as I knew it would reach the end.

Where would I be when that happened? What would become of me once I ran out of story?