“No!” Meg protested. “Your hair is nice.”
“Whatever. I just don’t like cleaning.”
“Who does?” Meg said sensibly.
Soon it was time to relax. Normally, Jo would head straight for her attic to do some writing and reading, but today she felt restless. She decided to go outside to shovel snow off the walk; about three inches had fallen overnight, and both Mom and Hannah hated shoveling. Jo didn’t mind it.
“Are you serious?” Meg asked Jo, watching her younger sister put on snow boots and a scarf. She was curled up by the fire watching a romantic comedy on TV with Beth and Amy. The three were sitting close together for warmth. “It’s freezing out there!”
“It’s not that bad,” Jo said. “I’ll be fine. Adventure awaits!”
Meg laughed and shook her head.
To Jo, it felt good to breathe in the cold air and get her muscles moving. After clearing the sidewalk in front of the house and a path around the garden, she got busy on the driveway. This was a lot harder to shovel, because underneath the snow was a layer of loose gravel. Even though it was all frozen together, the driveway was very bumpy, and extremely long. The garage was not attached to the house. Rather, it sat far behind it at the back of the March property, which meant the driveway had a lot of ground to cover. It would be so much easier to do the job, Jo thought, if she only had access to a backhoe. Just a small one, really. How awesome would that be?
Fortunately for everyone, Jo had no means of procuring construction equipment, not even a small model.
Feeling worn out after clearing less than half of the drive, Jo took a break and let her shovel fall into the snowbank. She looked around. The sky was white, with a thick layer of very high clouds blocking the sun. There wasn’t much traffic because it was still pretty early in the day. Jo noticed a bird’s nest in one of the eaves of the March house, and saw a lot of peeling paint all around it. The place had needed a fresh coat of paint for at least two years now; maybe when Dad got back they’d finally tackle the job. The Lawrence house next door had no peeling paint. It was perfectly maintained and very distinguished-looking, with already-cleared walks (Mr. Lawrence hired a service), precisely trimmed trees, and squared-off evergreen shrubs.
Jo stomped her feet to warm up and something caught her eye in one of the Lawrence’s windows. Laurie! She saw him wave and made a motion for him to open the window, which he did. Jo crossed the large lawn between their houses and shouted up to him.
“Hey! I have books for you!”
“Good!” he shouted down. “I have a cold and I’m bored out of my mind. Come over?”
“Okay. Give me five minutes.” Jo grinned and ran back to her own house to put the snow shovel away.
Inside, she gathered up the titles she’d been meaning to deliver to her new friend, along with a selection of treats from her secret food stash, and Snowball in his small kitty carrier. She knew Beth would be okay with her borrowing the pet, since it was for a good cause. No one could stay bored when there was a kitten in the room. “Mom! I’m going to Laurie’s,” Jo shouted.
“Okay,” came Mom’s muffled reply from the basement. “Remember to take off your boots before going inside!”
She ran over to Laurie’s front porch and rang the bell. He answered two seconds later.
“Hola,” she said solemnly, attempting to remove her boots without using her hands. “I come in peace. Thanks for saving me from shoveling the rest of our driveway.”
“You’re welcome.” Laurie smiled, opening the front door wide. “I’ll try not to sneeze in your direction. Grandpa is at breakfast with some of his friends from the country club. Want to play video games?”
“Definitely. I brought snacks and Beth’s cat to keep us company. Whenever I’m sick, all I want to do is read and stuff my face.”
“Me too,” Laurie said. His nose was a little red, but other than that he seemed healthy enough.
Laurie led Jo upstairs, past several interesting paintings, to a comfortable loft space overlooking the living room below. It had clearly been set up just for gaming. There was a big flat-screen TV and several low chairs and bean bags scattered around. Jo let Snowball out of his carrier, and the kitten proceeded to sniff everything in sight. Then she unpacked her backpack, producing a chocolate bar, tinfoil-wrapped apple pockets, and homemade fruit leather. She pulled out books and stacked them on a table for Laurie to look at later: The Giver, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Martian Chronicles, and The Graveyard Book.
“You’ve probably read all of these, but I thought I’d make sure,” Jo said.
“I’ve only read two. Thank you,” Laurie replied. They both watched Snowball for a few minutes and laughed when the kitten found a small piece of paper and batted it around in an adorable frenzy. “So, is the kitten yours or your sister’s?”
“Snowball is Beth’s,” Jo said. “But we all love him to pieces.”
“Is she the youngest?” Laurie asked. Jo could see he was curious to know more about her family, so she filled him in on everyone’s ages and particularities and promised to bring them over to meet him soon. She also invited him over to the March home to hang out anytime he wanted.
“Although I have to warn you Meg usually has some sappy movie on, and Beth will hide because she’s so shy, and Amy will probably make you sit as still as a statue so she can draw you.” Jo smiled. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into when you knock on our door. Oh, and you’ll definitely have to be in our next movie. I’m writing the script now. It’s about a radioactive dragon.”
“That sounds fun. More fun than here, for sure,” Laurie said, sounding sad. Jo wanted to ask about his parents and what had happened and where he had lived before here, but she wisely decided their friendship was too new to get into that sort of thing just now.
“Well, don’t be shy. Come over anytime. Your grandfather would be cool with it, wouldn’t he?”
Laurie didn’t mind being accused of shyness, because Jo was so friendly and her smile was so big.
“I will,” he promised. “Grandpa pretty much lets me do what I want. He looks scary, but he’s not bad.”
“That’s good.” Jo nodded. She adjusted her beanbag chair so she was looking at the ceiling. “What’s St. Jude like? I’ve never even been inside.”
“It’s okay. I’d rather go to your school, but I guess my family has belonged to St. Jude since, like, the beginning of time, so there’s no chance. One good thing about it is the high school is in the same building, so I might get to play JV soccer as an eighth grader next year.”
“That’s awesome!” Jo liked soccer almost as much as ice hockey. She was on her own school’s team, playing midfielder. They had finished their season six weeks ago with a trip to state, but hadn’t advanced, much to her dismay. Unfortunately, Mom said Jo couldn’t go out again next year unless her grades improved. “I play soccer too, but I’m majorly benched unless I start getting more As in my classes.”
“Yeah.” Laurie nodded in commiseration. “I’m getting a C in math, so Grandpa got me a tutor, this freshman named Brooks. He’s all right. I wish I could just do band all day. I’m learning jazz guitar.”
“Cool. Let’s play,” Jo said, lunging for a controller. “I’m superexcellent at this one.”
They played. It was a racing game with lots of twists, hills, and flying debris. Even though Jo had only played a half dozen times at friends’ houses, she was definitely doing better than poor Laurie, who seemed more interested in watching his new friend than in winning. He didn’t mind her racing superiority, which Jo found impressive. Compared to the troglodyte boys in Jo’s class, Laurie definitely stood out for being so normal.
An hour later, they heard the back door of the house open and Mr. Lawrence’s voice, calling up to his grandson. “I brought you soup, Laurie! Come down and have some; it’ll do your throat good.”
“I better go down there,” Laurie said to Jo. “But it’s okay if you stay up
here a little longer and finish your race.”
“Okay. I’ll be right down.” Jo nodded, her eyes a little glazed by the game. After a moment, she realized she was probably being rude and should find Laurie. She stood up, shook out her legs, and took a moment to look at the shelves surrounding the television. There were a few books there and lots of framed photos, mostly of Laurie with his parents and a few of him with his grandfather.
“He doesn’t look that scary to me,” Jo murmured aloud.
“Well, thank you,” a deep voice said, from not twelve feet behind her. Mr. Lawrence stood at the top of the stairs, smiling bemusedly. He wore a golf sweater and khakis. “I do my best.”
Jo blushed deeply. “I only meant . . . ,” she began, with no idea how to end the sentence. “Um, thank you so much for all that food at Christmas. It was really something.”
Mr. Lawrence laughed. “I’m glad you liked it. Er, ‘really something’ is good, right?”
“It’s totally good.”
“You remind me of your grandfather,” Mr. Lawrence said. “He liked to tell it like it is too. A fine man.”
“Thank you, sir. I wish I could remember him.” Jo relaxed. Mr. Lawrence seemed quite friendly.
“I could tell you some stories,” he said, grinning. “But I’ll wait till you’re older. What are you and Laurie up to?”
“Video games. He was lonely and I was tired of shoveling snow, so we’ve been hanging out. I hope that’s okay,” Jo added. She realized Mom probably didn’t know Mr. Lawrence wasn’t home when she gave Jo permission to visit Laurie. Oops.
“I’m glad he’s made a new friend.” Mr. Lawrence nodded. “Join us for tea?”
“Sure!” Jo liked every kind of tea she’d ever met. “I love tea!”
“You’re very wise,” Mr. Lawrence replied.
The trio sat down at the kitchen table, and Mr. Lawrence poured Laurie a lemon blend with honey. Jo chose vanilla rooibos, and Mr. Lawrence had Irish Breakfast.
“Cream and sugar, Miss March?” Mr. Lawrence asked.
“I’ll take one cube of sugar and lots of cream, please, Mr. L.”
Jo could tell Laurie wanted to hang out in the loft more than he wanted to have tea with his grandfather, so she was extracheerful and talkative to balance things out and to let him know she didn’t mind the change in their activities, especially since Mr. Lawrence had served delicious glazed orange scones alongside the tea. After a few minutes, seeing how well his friend was getting along with his grandpa, Laurie relaxed and his regular grin returned.
As Jo explained—in great detail, and with lots of excited gestures—how she was trying to get the empty lot in their neighborhood turned into either a soccer field or hockey rink, or both, Mr. Lawrence watched his grandson and saw the good effect Jo had on him. Laurie’s eyes danced, and his laugh was genuine.
When it was time to go, Mr. Lawrence invited Jo to bring back her whole family over for brunch. Jo left with a smile on her face, happy to have such wonderful neighbors and new friends.
On her short walk home, she didn’t even feel the winter cold.
Jo March’s Care Box Instructions
When one of your sisters, or your new best friend, is sick or suffering from the winter blues, it can help to make a care box. Everyone loves getting a care box. The best ones have books, food, and other cheerful items. Here are my ingredients for a good one.
Ingredients:
4 books (one classic, one new, two favorites)
1 sugary treat (I suggest chocolate-based choices, including but not limited to brownies or candy bars)
1 healthy snack (good options include veggie chips, fruit leather, roasted nuts, or string cheese)
Something unexpected (a kitten, a magic trick you just learned, fireworks . . . just kidding)
1 box of tea
Directions:
Assemble all the items in a pretty gift bag or decorated shoe box and deliver. You can’t just drop it off and leave, though. The most important part about putting together a care box is hanging out with the recipient. Because really, YOU are the care box.
CHAPTER SIX
Beth Comes Out of Her Shell
“I can’t go back to yesterday—because I was
a different person then.”
—Lewis Carroll
Several weeks later, Jo assembled her entire family for a visit to Laurie’s house.
“You’ll love it, Amy,” she promised her youngest sister. “There is totally weird art all over the place. Like, a whole canvas painted with just one big blotch of color. It looks very nice, though,” Jo added quickly, remembering her manners.
Amy grinned. She was on a modern art kick, having dragged Dad’s biggest coffee-table books out of storage recently. They had been carefully collected over decades of Mr. March’s occasional visits to the Met in New York City and the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston. Amy was the only March sister who seemed to understand, in her soul, what made a particular work of art special.
“I think I’ll stay here,” Beth announced. Everything that interested Beth was pretty much within the walls of their home.
“Just come for a minute,” Jo said gently, tucking the tag sticking out of the collar of Beth’s shirt back in. “You can peek at Mr. Lawrence’s spectacular baby grand piano and then come right back home.” Jo always knew how to prod her most sensitive sibling without upsetting her. Beth nodded, her eyes gleaming. A baby grand piano? Right next door? It boggled the mind.
“What are we waiting for?” Meg asked impatiently, bouncing from foot to foot. She was very interested to see for herself what sorts of luxurious delights were contained inside Laurie’s house.
“Nothing, nothing,” Mom said, rushing out of the kitchen with a covered plate of muffins. She couldn’t resist bringing something delicious to their neighbor. “Let’s go.”
After a lively and pleasant brunch prepared by the Lawrences’ housekeeper, Riva, and shared around the large dining room table, each girl found something to love in the Lawrence house. Meg was completely enchanted by an incredible greenhouse tucked in the back of the estate. Mr. Lawrence liked tropical flowers, so he kept the space heated to a balmy eighty degrees, and ran humidifiers constantly to accommodate an amazing array of orchids and fruit trees. He had both mangoes and oranges growing inside, so the room had a beautiful aroma. Meg said several times, only half joking, that she planned to visit the greenhouse daily. “Humid air is good for my complexion,” she solemnly explained to Mr. Lawrence, who agreed that it was good for his as well, and that she was welcome anytime.
Jo loved the well-appointed library on the first floor and marveled at all the books. Her only criticism was the room was quite stuffed with business theory and had very little fiction.
“You can borrow anything you like, Miss March,” Mr. Lawrence said, amused to watch Jo survey each shelf with intensity. It looked as if she was searching for the meaning of life in there.
“Thank you, Mr. L.,” Jo said. But then, unable to help herself, she made a face as if tasting something too tart.
“Miss March, do you find my taste in books poor?” Mr. Lawrence asked. Laurie, who was also in the room, looked embarrassed. But Jo didn’t hesitate.
“I do. Where’s the adventure? The romance? All I see are books about how to make money.”
“I see what you mean.” Mr. Lawrence laughed. “Perhaps you could accompany Laurie and me to a bookstore one of these days and help us round out my collection.”
“I’d be happy to!” Jo cried, clapping her hands. Laurie grinned at her and at his grandfather, for being so kind to his friend. “It’s good to start with the classics, you know.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?” Mr. Lawrence asked.
“It makes all the other books feel more important,” Jo said. “Like, if you go to a party, and the most respected and most intelligent people in the world are there, wouldn’t you feel extra good about being there yourself?”
“I suppose tha
t I would.” Mr. Lawrence smiled. “Indeed. Which classics do you enjoy the most?”
“Well, my very favorite is Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I actually have a first-edition copy; it’s my most prized possession.”
“Impressive.” Mr. Lawrence nodded. “I adored that book as a boy. What an incredible thing to own. You have exquisite taste, young lady.”
“Thank you.” Jo smiled.
Amy was indeed impressed with the mansion’s art. One piece in particular caught her attention. It was hanging in the dining room; the only painting in the room. Thick daubs of overlapping oil swirls in greens and blues covered the canvas, which was easily ten feet long. She stared at it in a trance.
Beth looked at the grand piano from around the corner where it stood, as if it might make some kind of sudden movement. She yearned with her whole heart to play it, for it was a fine instrument, but she couldn’t get up the courage to ask Mr. Lawrence if it was okay. So she merely stared.
Laurie knew, from Jo’s stories about her family, that Beth was exceptionally bashful. Watching her timidly look at the piano with longing in her eyes, he decided to see if Grandpa could do anything about it. Mr. Lawrence was always bugging Laurie to take piano lessons, but Laurie was much more interested in the guitar.
“Grandpa, I think little Beth wants to play your piano, but she’s too shy to ask you,” he said. Mr. Lawrence nodded. He casually opened several drawers in a hutch next to the piano, and pulled out a collection of music to show to Mrs. March.
“Your father loved to play,” he explained to her, just loud enough for Beth to hear as well. “In fact, some of this is his music.” He cleverly launched into several stories about how the two friends had once played piano together at parties. He also mentioned some performances he’d seen and described them in such beautiful detail that Beth was drawn from her hiding spot around the corner, fully into the room, and eventually onto the ottoman in front of Mr. Lawrence’s chair. He pretended not to notice her, still talking about music and how much he loved it.
Littler Women Page 4