“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 human boy, but I shall love the vampire 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 for all eternity, 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. That he’d fulfilled his lifelong dream to be a vampire helped the matter along considerably.
By and by, 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 grandson’s transformation, for he could now be assured that the boy would never leave him as his granddaughter and Beth had.
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.”
“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 say everything in half an hour. It was fortunate that blood was at hand, to produce a lull and provide refreshment—for they would have been faint with hunger 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.”
Just then there came a knock at the porch door. Jo 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 vampire, whose welcome far exceeded his boldest hopes.
“If I shall not be Monsieur de Trop,42 I will so gladly see them all. You haf been sad, 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.
“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 they had heard a great deal about him, and the elder Marches in particular were eager to meet the man who had taught their daughter how to transform into a bat. They thought it was the most marvelous thing that Jo could fly, and she had been instructing her parents in transmogrification for months now, with varying degrees of success. Marmee hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet, for, her daughter could tell, she resisted the notion of turning into a bat. She wanted to be a more amiable bird like a cardinal or blue jay.
The Professor stayed a little while, for the company was genial and kind, but soon after he saw Laurie, whom he’d known to have recently been a human boy, he announced he had to leave. Jo was caught off guard by the abruptness of the declaration and tried to think of a reason to stall him, for she didn’t want him to go now that he was finally there.
But the Professor wouldn’t be swayed from his purpose and immediately took up his umbrella, for it was raining outside and being a vampire didn’t protect one against soggy drops in one’s eyes. He bid a proper good night to everyone, lingering longest over Mr. March, with whom he felt he could have many splendid long conversations, and walked determinedly to the porch.
Jo followed with a growing unease, for somehow she knew if he left now, she would never see him again. “Are you absolutely sure you have to go right away?” she asked, as he swung open the door. “We were just about to eat.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, backing away and stumbling unceremoniously on the package he’d brought with him, which was the reason for his visit.
Jo looked down, astonished. “Christopher Columbus!” she said, falling back into the old slang she hadn’t used in years. “It’s Dr. Bang.”
Mr. Bhaer regained his balance awkwardly, stepping on the doctor’s elbow, then crushing his fingers, then kicking his knee. The victim couldn’t protest this abuse, for a white handkerchief was stuffed in his mouth and ropes bound his arms and legs. All he could do was look at Jo with fear and loathing in his eyes. “Ah, yes, I haf captured him for you,” the Professor stated, finally reaching for the door for stability when all else failed. Gingerly, he walked around the prisoner and felt steady again on his feet.
Her amazement was such that she couldn’t think of anything to say. Here, wrapped like a present and offered like a gift, albeit a forgotten one left on the front porch, was the man she’d been hunting for over a year, the elusive author of all her sorrows. She rapped him once in the knee so recently injured but was otherwise bereft of a response.
The Professor explained. “When I heard what happened to your sister, I know this man is to blame. I found him and brought to you. He is yours. Do vhat you please.”
Overwhelmed, Jo insisted that he come in again so that her family could properly thank him for the thoughtful service. “You’re a hero. Please come back inside and let us drink a toast to you.”
“No, no,” he said, turning to go and tripping once more over his quarry. The doctor let out a large ooph as Bhaer’s shoe connected with his stomach. Jo followed him into the rain, and he opened his umbrella like the gentleman he was, insisting now that she return to the party, for Laurie must be waiting for her.
“Laurie?” she repeated, confusion in her voice as she tried to figure out why he would think of that person above all others.
“Your best friend. The boy who is a vampire now.”
“Yes, my sister…” she began, then broke off as
the meaning of his words struck her, and she laughed with relief and delight and something else she couldn’t put a name to. “He married my sister. He’s Amy’s husband. She turned him, not I.”
“Oh, my God, that is so good!” cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella. “Jo, I haf nothing but much love to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?” he added, all in one breath.
“Oh, yes!” said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.
It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account of the mud, and Dr. Bang was only a few feet away, alternately groaning in pain, struggling to break free and listening with interest.
“Friedrich, why didn’t you…”
“Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Mama died!” cried the Professor, regarding her with grateful delight as they stood in a puddle.
“I always call you so to myself—I forgot, but I won’t unless you like it.”
“Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell,” said Mr. Bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?” asked Jo bashfully.
“Now I shall haf to show you all my heart, and I so gladly vill, because you must take care of it hereafter. See, then, my Jo—ah, the dear, funny little name—I had a vish to tell something the day I said good-bye in New York, but I thought the handsome friend vas betrothed to thee, and so I spoke not.”
“Laurie’s just a friend. That’s all he’s ever been.”
“But how do I know? And now you gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands,” cried the Professor, quite overcome.
Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood in the rain, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, “Not empty now,” and reaching up, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it if there had been a dozen Dr. Bangs lying on the porch, for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her own happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting to receive them, with a glad “Welcome home!” Jo led her lover in, shut the door, and immediately announced to her entire family that she and the Professor were getting married.
“And Beth’s killer is on the doorstep trussed up like a turkey,” she added to the already exultant crowd. They were so moved by both pieces of news, the much-wished-for happy and the long-mourned sad, that there was nothing to be done but bring Dr. Bang in immediately, lay him on the dining room table, and feast on him, despite the bruises that were beginning to smart along his arms and legs. Everyone was in a festive mood, and it warmed Jo’s heart to see her beloved among her family, for he seemed at home. It appeared others felt the same way, particularly Meg, because she suggested that Jo and Friedrich turn Aunt March’s home into a school for vampire defenders to teach the old ways like Jo had been doing at the salon. Aunt March would no longer be needing her home, as the dear ancient had been staked just last week by Amy’s replacement. It seemed a worldwide cabal had indeed been imminent all those years, and Aunt March had the keen satisfaction of knowing she was right, which, as for so many paranoids who come to violent ends, almost made up for the end itself.
The idea was met with universal approval, and Marmee and Father, deeming the occasion was special enough and the chosen meal sinful enough, made an exception to their devout humanitarianism and dined, like the rest, on Dr. Bang.
“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 Friedrich 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 vill sing vith me? Ve go excellently vell 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 Transylvanian, 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.
The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered with laurels, and Amy put on her bonnet, and Laurie began to make their good-byes. But before anyone could leave, for the hour was late and the sun would soon rise, Mrs. March stretched out her arms, as if to gather children to herself, and said, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility…
“Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!”
About the Authors
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT (1832–1888) was an American novelist best known for Little Women. The story is loosely based on her own childhood experience growing up in Concord, Massachusetts, with three sisters. Unlike Jo March, the protagonist of her famous novel, Alcott never became a vampire.
LYNN MESSINA is the author of Fashionistas, Tallulahland, Mim Warner’s Lost Her Cool, and Savvy Girl. When she’s not writing about girls growing up—or girls growing up as vampires—she works as a freelance copy editor for various New York magazines.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Credits
Cover art © 2010 by John Paul / Lott Representatives
Cover design by Ray Shappell
Copyright
LITTLE VAMPIRE WOMEN. Adaptation copyright © 2010 by Lynn Messina. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any m
eans, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Messina, Lynn (Lynn Ann), 1972—
Little vampire women / by Louisa May Alcott and [adapted by]
Lynn Messina.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In this twist on Louisa May Alcott’s classic tale that chronicles the joys and sorrows of the four March sisters as they grow into young women in mid-nineteenth-century New England, the girls are vampires and neighbor Laurie wants to join them.
ISBN 978-0-06-197625-4
[1. Vampires—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Fiction. 3. Family life—New England—Fiction. 4. New England—History—19th century—Fiction.] I. Alcott, Louisa May, 1832-1888. Little women. II. Title.
PZ7.M556Lit 2010 2009053449
[Fic]—dc22 CIP
AC
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition © March 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-200145-0
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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1 Bestselling how-to that introduced the so-called scientifical method of slayer hunting, by Clifford Farmer (b. 1685).
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