As Jo received her kiss before sleep, Mrs. March whispered gently, “My dear, don’t let the sun come up upon your anger. Forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tonight.”
She shook her head, and said gruffly because Amy was listening, “It was an abominable thing, and she doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”
With that she marched off to her coffin, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that morning.
That evening, still feeling detestably angry, Jo asked Laurie to go skating with her. He was always kind and jolly and would put her to rights.
Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation, then, after a flurry to get ready, ran after her friends, who were just disappearing over the hill.
It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back. Laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a warm spell had preceded the cold snap.
“I’ll go on to the first bend, and see if it’s all right before we begin to race,” Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.
Jo heard Amy stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but Jo never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister’s troubles. She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do unless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back…
“Keep near the shore. It isn’t safe in the middle.” Jo heard, but Amy was struggling to her feet and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear…
“No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself. Besides, a little cold water won’t hurt her.”
Laurie had vanished round the bend, Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the river. For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart, then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, into the river, whose current was suddenly swift and strong and carrying Amy toward a large sharp branch hanging just above the water. Jo’s heart stood still with fear. She tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone. She tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them, and for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring with a terror-stricken face at the little blue hood careening toward the branch. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie’s voice cried out…
“Get her. Quick, quick!”
How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few seconds, she worked possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and diving into the river and dragging Amy under the branch that would have staked them both, barely missing it by half an inch, then pulling her safely to shore, where Laurie grabbed the child, more frightened than hurt.
“Now then, we must walk you home as fast as we can. Pile our things on, while I get off these confounded skates,” cried Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemed so intricate before, aware but unable to fully comprehend in the moment that the girls were immune from cold.
Dripping, and crying, bloody tears mixing with streaming water, they got Amy home, and after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown about, looking wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands blue from immersion in ice. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the coffin, she called Jo to her and rubbed her daughter’s frozen hands.
“Are you sure she is safe?” whispered Jo, looking remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight forever by the treacherous branch.
“Quite safe, dear. She is not hurt, thanks to your swift action,” replied her mother cheerfully.
“Laurie did it all. I only let her go, then froze in shock. Mother, if she had died, it would have been my fault.” And Jo dropped down beside the coffin in a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.
“It’s my dreadful temper! I try to cure it, I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. Oh, Mother, what shall I do? What shall I do?” cried poor Jo, in despair.
“Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault,” said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried even harder.
“You don’t know, you can’t guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I’m in a passion. I get so savage, I could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I’m afraid I shall do something dreadful some day. Oh, Mother, help me, do help me!” she cried. Never before had she felt so keenly that she had a demon inside her.
“I will, my child, I will. Don’t cry so bitterly, but remember this day, and resolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it. Jo, dear, we all have our temptations, some far greater than yours. Every day I wake up with an almost unbearable desire to feed on humans, to crush their soft, pulsing throat between my teeth, and to slake my hunger with their blood so that they would never look at me again with those poor, pathetic eyes so full of need, desperation, and fear. When I feel the hunger means to break out against my will, I just go away for a minute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked.”
“You, Mother? Why, you are never bloodthirsty!” And for the moment Jo forgot remorse in surprise.
“I’ve been trying to cure myself of it for almost a hundred and seventy-two years, and have only succeeded in controlling it. I am hungry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but I have learned not to show it, and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another hundred and seventy-two years to do so.”
The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her. The knowledge that her mother had a fault, too, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it.
“How did you learn to control your hunger?”
“Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or complains, but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed me that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own.”
“Oh, Marmee. You are so wise. Help me be wise.”
“I will, child, for I will repeat this lesson and many others just like it over and over, for I exist only to instruct you.”
“Oh, Mother, if I’m ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied,” cried Jo, much touched by her mother’s earnestness.
“I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watch over your ‘bosom enemy,’ as Father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. You have had a warning. Remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have known today.”
Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault, Jo looked up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before.
“I let the sun come up on my anger. I wouldn’t forgive her, and tonight, if it hadn’t been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be so wicked?” said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.
As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that wen
t straight to Jo’s heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.
Chapter Eight
MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR
It was so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid,” said Jo, looking like a windmill as she folded skirts with her long arms to prepare Meg for her time away.
“And such lovely weather, I’m so glad of that,” added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great occasion.
“I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these nice things,” said Amy with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister’s cushion.
“I wish you were all going, but as you can’t, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I’m sure it’s the least I can do when you have been so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready,” said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit, which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes.
“What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?” asked Amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest in which Mrs. March kept a few relics16 of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came.
“A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk, but it has three stubborn little blood droplets on the bodice, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan.”
“It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn’t smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had it,” said Jo, “who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use. In her enthusiasm, Jo tended to forget her super strength and often abused her belongings by grasping them too tightly or tossing them too roughly.
“There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl fang-enhancement set in the treasure chest, but Mother said a row of gleaming white teeth were the prettiest ornament for a young vampire,” replied Meg. “Now, let me see, there’s my new gray walking suit, just curl up the feather in my hat, Beth, then my poplin for Sunday and the small party, it looks heavy for spring, doesn’t it? The violet silk would be so nice. Oh, dear!”
The next night was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented than she went. But she begged so hard, and Annie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter of irksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashionable vampire life.
The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants. The luxury of Annie’s coffin, an ornate affair of solid mahogany polished to an impossibly bright high-gloss sheen and lined with velvet the color of fresh blood, nearly robbed her of speech and she managed only a “very nice,” as she pictured the plain pine boxes she and her sisters slept in. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or intelligent vampires, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously on fresh blood, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every night, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her, use French phrases, show off her fangs, decorate her dresses with blood splatters, and play parlor games17 upon vampirists, humans who enjoyed the light-headed thrill of having their blood sucked. Annie taught her a delightful diversion called tic-tac-toe, in which each participant stuck a tack into the human’s toe and took bites of all the body parts that twitched in response. The player who made the most puncture marks won. It sounded easy enough to accomplish, but Meg fared dreadfully at first because she lacked the skill of her opponents, who had been sticking pins into humans for years. But once she realized the trick to causing tics was applying appropriate pressure, she became virtually unbeatable.
In comparison to the luxury of the Moffats’, her home now looked bare and dismal, but Meg did not have time to repine, for Annie and her sister Belle kept her busily employed in “having a good time.”
The evening for the ball came, and Belle insisted Meg wear a “sweet blue silk” dress that, she claimed, she had long since outgrown. Meg knew that was not true because vampires never outgrew anything, but the dress was so dear and her morals so easily overcome she readily agreed.
“Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style,” Belle begged. “I admire to do it, and you’d be a regular little beauty with a touch here and there.”
Belle shut herself up with her maid, and between them they turned Meg into a fine vampire lady. They crimped and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortense would have added “a soupçon of rouge,” if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was mortifyingly low in the neck to modest Meg. Gold filigree was added to her fangs, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did not show. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.
“Mademoiselle is charmante, très jolie, is she not?” cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.
“Come and show yourself,” said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting.
As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts trailing, her earrings tinkling and her curls waving, she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for though she couldn’t confirm the notion with a mirror, as she had no reflection, she suspected that she was indeed “a little beauty.” Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable,18 enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.
Careful of the unfamiliar heels, Margaret got safely down stairs and sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled, most of whom were vampires but some mortals as well. She very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them…
“Daisy March”—for the Moffats called her Daisy for reasons known only to themselves; perhaps because she reminded them of the fresh, spring flower, perhaps because they found her given name repugnant—“father a colonel in the army, one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know, and full of unusual ideas about the treatment of humans. That will change soon enough, I don’t doubt, as Mrs. M. has made her plans and will play her cards well. The Laurence fortune will be hers as soon as dear Daisy alters the boy. Her younger sister has already gotten her fangs into the grandfather, who seems a little mature for a vampire of only three-and-forty, but the child was always queer.”
“Dear me!” said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been much disturbed
by Mrs. Moffat’s shocking lies. Agitated, she tried to forget what she’d heard but could not and kept repeating to herself, “Mrs. M. has made her plans,” till she was ready to rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was impossible, she did her best to imagine herself acting the new part of fine vampire lady and so got on pretty well, though the dress was too low, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her earrings should fly off and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing over a game of tic-tac-toe with a young gentleman, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused, for just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was staring at her with undisguised surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her wish she didn’t have her fangs in the leg of a human girl, even if she was about to win the game.
Determined not to care, she rustled across the room to shake hands with her friend, who looked unusually boyish and shy. “I’m glad you came,” she said, with her most grown-up air.
“Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did,” answered Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her maternal tone.
“What shall you tell her?” asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him for the first time.
“I shall say I didn’t know you, for you are behaving so unlike yourself, I’m quite afraid of you,” he said, fumbling at his glove button.
“How absurd of you! It’s all in good fun. Nobody is getting hurt,” she insisted, for the girl serving as the game board had enjoyed herself immensely. Even so, Meg knew her parents would not approve of the activity. The Marches did not count vampirists among their acquaintance, as they found their behavior sordid. Thinking it best to change the subject, Meg indicated with a gesture to the opulence of her dress. “Wouldn’t Jo stare if she saw me?”
“Yes, I think she would,” returned Laurie gravely.
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