Very likely some Mrs. Grundy will observe, “I don’t believe it, boys will be boys,young men must sow their wild oats, and women must not expect miracles.” I dare say you don’t, Mrs.Grundy, but it’s true nevertheless. Women work a good many miracles,and I have a persuasion that they may perform even that of raising the standard of manhood by refusing to echo such sayings.Let the boys be boys, the longer the better,and let the young men sow their wild oats if they must. But mothers, sisters,and friends may help to make the crop a small one, and keep many tares from spoiling the harvest,by believing, and showing that they believe,in the possibility of loyalty to the virtues which make men manliest in good women’s eyes.If it is a feminine delusion, leave us to enjoy it while we may,for without it half the beauty and the romance of life is lost,and sorrowful forebodings would embitter all our hopes of the brave, tenderhearted little lads,who still love their mothers better than themselves and are not ashamed to own it.
Laurie thought that the task of forgetting his love for Jo would absorb all his powers for years,but to his great surprise he discovered it grew easier every day.He refused to believe it at first, got angry with himself, and couldn’t understand it,but these hearts of ours are curious and contrary things,and time and nature work their will in spite of us. Laurie’s heart wouldn’t ache.The wound persisted in healing with a rapidity that astonished him,and instead of trying to forget, he found himself trying to remember.He had not foreseen this turn of affairs, and was not prepared for it.He was disgusted with himself, surprised at his own fickleness,and full of a queer mixture of disappointment and relief that he could recover from such a tremendous blow so soon.He carefully stirred up the embers of his lost love, but they refused to burst into a blaze.There was only a comfortable glow that warmed and did him good without putting him into a fever,and he was reluctantly obliged to confess that the boyish passion was slowly subsiding into a more tranquil sentiment,very tender, a little sad and resentful still, but that was sure to pass away in time,leaving a brotherly affection which would last unbroken to the end.
As the word ‘brotherly’ passed through his mind in one of his reveries, he smiled,and glanced up at the picture of Mozart that was before him...
“Well, he was a great man, and when he couldn’t have one sister he took the other, and was happy.”
Laurie did not utter the words, but he thought them,and the next instant kissed the little old ring, saying to himself, “No, I won’t!I haven’t forgotten, I never can. I’ll try again, and if that fails, why then...”
Leaving his sentence unfinished, he seized pen and paper and wrote to Jo,telling her that he could not settle to anything while there was the least hope of her changing her mind.Couldn’t she, wouldn’t she—and let him come home and be happy?While waiting for an answer he did nothing, but he did it energetically,for he was in a fever of impatience. It came at last,and settled his mind effectually on one point, for Jo decidedly couldn’t and wouldn’t.She was wrapped up in Beth, and never wished to hear the word love again.Then she begged him to be happy with somebody else,but always keep a little corner of his heart for his loving sister Jo.In a postscript she desired him not to tell Amy that Beth was worse,she was coming home in the spring and there was no need of saddening the remainder of her stay.That would be time enough, please God, but Laurie must write to her often,and not let her feel lonely, homesick or anxious.
“So I will, at once. Poor little girl, it will be a sad going home for her, I’m afraid,” and Laurie opened his desk, as if writing to Amy had been the proper conclusion of the sentence left unfinished some weeks before.
But he did not write the letter that day, for as he rummaged out his best paper,he came across something which changed his purpose.Tumbling about in one part of the desk among bills, passports,and business documents of various kinds were several of Jo’s letters,and in another compartment were three notes from Amy,carefully tied up with one of her blue ribbons and sweetly suggestive of the little dead roses put away inside.With a half-repentant, half-amused expression, Laurie gathered up all Jo’s letters, smoothed,folded, and put them neatly into a small drawer of the desk,stood a minute turning the ring thoughtfully on his finger, then slowly drew it off,laid it with the letters, locked the drawer, and went out to hear High Mass at Saint Stefan’s,feeling as if there had been a funeral, and though not overwhelmed with affliction,this seemed a more proper way to spend the rest of the day than in writing letters to charming young ladies.
The letter went very soon, however, and was promptly answered, for Amy was homesick,and confessed it in the most delightfully confiding manner. The correspondence flourished famously,and letters flew to and fro with unfailing regularity all through the early spring.Laurie sold his busts, made allumettes of his opera, and went back to Paris,hoping somebody would arrive before long. He wanted desperately to go to Nice,but would not till he was asked, and Amy would not ask him,for just then she was having little experiences of her own,which made her rather wish to avoid the quizzical eyes of ‘our boy’.
Fred Vaughn had returned, and put the question to which she had once decided to answer, “Yes,thank you,” but now she said, “No, thank you,” kindly but steadily, for when the time came,her courage failed her, and she found that something more than money and position was needed to satisfy the new longing that filled her heart so full of tender hopes and fears. The words, “Fred is a good fellow, but not at all the man I fancied you would ever like,” and Laurie’s face when he uttered them, kept returning to her as pertinaciously as her own did when she said in look, if not in words, “I shall marry for money.” It troubled her to remember that now, she wished she could take it back, it sounded so unwomanly. She didn’t want Laurie to think her a heartless, worldly creature. She didn’t care to be a queen of society now half so much as she did to be a lovable woman. She was so glad he didn’t hate her for the dreadful things she said, but took them so beautifully and was kinder than ever. His letters were such a comfort, for the home letters were very irregular and not half so satisfactory as his when they did come. It was not only a pleasure, but a duty to answer them, for the poor fellow was forlorn, and needed petting, since Jo persisted in being stonyhearted. She ought to have made an effort and tried to love him. It couldn’t be very hard, many people would be proud and glad to have such a dear boy care for them. But Jo never would act like other girls, so there was nothing to do but be very kind and treat him like a brother.
If all brothers were treated as well as Laurie was at this period,they would be a much happier race of beings than they are. Amy never lectured now.She asked his opinion on all subjects, she was interested in everything he did,made charming little presents for him, and sent him two letters a week, full of lively gossip,sisterly confidences, and captivating sketches of the lovely scenes about her.As few brothers are complimented by having their letters carried about in their sister’s pockets,read and reread diligently, cried over when short, kissed when long, and treasured carefully,we will not hint that Amy did any of these fond and foolish things.But she certainly did grow a little pale and pensive that spring,lost much of her relish for society, and went out sketching alone a good deal.She never had much to show when she came home, but was studying nature, I dare say,while she sat for hours, with her hands folded, on the terrace at Valrosa,or absently sketched any fancy that occurred to her, a stalwart knight carved on a tomb,a young man asleep in the grass, with his hat over his eyes,or a curly haired girl in gorgeous array,promenading down a ballroom on the arm of a tall gentleman,both faces being left a blur according to the last fashion in art,which was safe but not altogether satisfactory.
Her aunt thought that she regretted her answer to Fred,and finding denials useless and explanations impossible, Amy left her to think what she liked,taking care that Laurie should know that Fred had gone to Egypt. That was all,but he understood it, and looked relieved, as he said to himself, with a venerable air...
“I was sure she would think better of it. Poor old fellow!I’ve been through it all, and I can sympathize.”
With that he heaved a great sigh, and then, as if he had discharged his duty to the past,put his feet up on the sofa and enjoyed Amy’s letter luxuriously.
While these changes were going on abroad, trouble had come at home.But the letter telling that Beth was failing never reached Amy,and when the next found her the grass was green above her sister. The sad news met her at Vevay,for the heat had driven them from Nice in May, and they had travelled slowly to Switzerland,by way of Genoa and the Italian lakes. She bore it very well,and quietly submitted to the family decree that she should not shorten her visit,for since it was too late to say goodbye to Beth, she had better stay,and let absence soften her sorrow. But her heart was very heavy, she longed to be at home,and every day looked wistfully across the lake, waiting for Laurie to come and comfort her.
He did come very soon, for the same mail brought letters to them both, but he was in Germany,and it took some days to reach him. The moment he read it, he packed his knapsack,bade adieu to his fellow pedestrians, and was off to keep his promise,with a heart full of joy and sorrow, hope and suspense.
He knew Vevay well, and as soon as the boat touched the little quay,he hurried along the shore to La Tour, where the Carrols were living en pension.The garcon was in despair that the whole family had gone to take a promenade on the lake, but no,the blonde mademoiselle might be in the chateau garden.If monsieur would give himself the pain of sitting down, a flash of time should present her.But monsieur could not wait even a ‘flash of time’,and in the middle of the speech departed to find mademoiselle himself.
A pleasant old garden on the borders of the lovely lake, with chestnuts rustling overhead,ivy climbing everywhere, and the black shadow of the tower falling far across the sunny water.At one corner of the wide, low wall was a seat, and here Amy often came to read or work,or console herself with the beauty all about her. She was sitting here that day,leaning her head on her hand, with a homesick heart and heavy eyes,thinking of Beth and wondering why Laurie did not come.She did not hear him cross the courtyard beyond,nor see him pause in the archway that led from the subterranean path into the garden.He stood a minute looking at her with new eyes, seeing what no one had ever seen before,the tender side of Amy’s character. Everything about her mutely suggested love and sorrow,the blotted letters in her lap, the black ribbon that tied up her hair,the womanly pain and patience in her face,even the little ebony cross at her throat seemed pathetic to Laurie, for he had given it to her,and she wore it as her only ornament. If he had any doubts about the reception she would give him,they were set at rest the minute she looked up and saw him, for dropping everything,she ran to him, exclaiming in a tone of unmistakable love and longing...
“Oh, Laurie, Laurie, I knew you’d come to me!”
I think everything was said and settled then, for as they stood together quite silent for a moment,with the dark head bent down protectingly over the light one,Amy felt that no one could comfort and sustain her so well as Laurie,and Laurie decided that Amy was the only woman in the world who could fill Jo’s place and make him happy.He did not tell her so, but she was not disappointed, for both felt the truth, were satisfied, and gladly left the rest to silence.
In a minute Amy went back to her place, and while she dried her tears,Laurie gathered up the scattered papers,finding in the sight of sundry well-worn letters and suggestive sketches good omens for the future.As he sat down beside her, Amy felt shy again,and turned rosy red at the recollection of her impulsive greeting.
“I couldn’t help it, I felt so lonely and sad, and was so very glad to see you.It was such a surprise to look up and find you, just as I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t come,” she said, trying in vain to speak quite naturally.
“I came the minute I heard. I wish I could say something to comfort you for the loss of dear little Beth,but I can only feel, and...” He could not get any further,for he too turned bashful all of a sudden, and did not quite know what to say.He longed to lay Amy’s head down on his shoulder, and tell her to have a good cry,but he did not dare, so took her hand instead,and gave it a sympathetic squeeze that was better than words.
“You needn’t say anything, this comforts me,” she said softly. “Beth is well and happy,and I mustn’t wish her back, but I dread the going home, much as I long to see them all.We won’t talk about it now, for it makes me cry, and I want to enjoy you while you stay. You needn’t go right back, need you?”
“Not if you want me, dear.”
“I do, so much. Aunt and Flo are very kind, but you seem like one of the family,and it would be so comfortable to have you for a little while.”
Amy spoke and looked so like a homesick child whose heart was full that Laurie forgot his bashfulness all at once,and gave her just what she wanted—the petting she was used to and the cheerful conversation she needed.
“Poor little soul, you look as if you’d grieved yourself half sick!I’m going to take care of you, so don’t cry any more, but come and walk about with me,the wind is too chilly for you to sit still,” he said, in the half-caressing,half-commanding way that Amy liked, as he tied on her hat, drew her arm through his,and began to pace up and down the sunny walk under the new-leaved chestnuts.He felt more at ease upon his legs, and Amy found it pleasant to have a strong arm to lean upon,a familiar face to smile at her, and a kind voice to talk delightfully for her alone.
The quaint old garden had sheltered many pairs of lovers, and seemed expressly made for them,so sunny and secluded was it, with nothing but the tower to overlook them,and the wide lake to carry away the echo of their words, as it rippled by below.For an hour this new pair walked and talked, or rested on the wall,enjoying the sweet influences which gave such a charm to time and place,and when an unromantic dinner bell warned them away,Amy felt as if she left her burden of loneliness and sorrow behind her in the chateau garden.
The moment Mrs. Carrol saw the girl’s altered face, she was illuminated with a new idea,and exclaimed to herself, “Now I understand it all—the child has been pining for young Laurence.Bless my heart, I never thought of such a thing!”
With praiseworthy discretion, the good lady said nothing, and betrayed no sign of enlightenment,but cordially urged Laurie to stay and begged Amy to enjoy his society,for it would do her more good than so much solitude. Amy was a model of docility,and as her aunt was a good deal occupied with Flo, she was left to entertain her friend,and did it with more than her usual success.
At Nice, Laurie had lounged and Amy had scolded. At Vevay, Laurie was never idle,but always walking, riding, boating, or studying in the most energetic manner,while Amy admired everything he did and followed his example as far and as fast as she could.He said the change was owing to the climate, and she did not contradict him,being glad of a like excuse for her own recovered health and spirits.
The invigorating air did them both good,and much exercise worked wholesome changes in minds as well as bodies.They seemed to get clearer views of life and duty up there among the everlasting hills.The fresh winds blew away desponding doubts, delusive fancies, and moody mists.The warm spring sunshine brought out all sorts of aspiring ideas, tender hopes, and happy thoughts.The lake seemed to wash away the troubles of the past,and the grand old mountains to look benignly down upon them saying, “Little children, love one another.”
In spite of the new sorrow, it was a very happy time,so happy that Laurie could not bear to disturb it by a word.It took him a little while to recover from his surprise at the cure of his first,and as he had firmly believed, his last and only love.He consoled himself for the seeming disloyalty by the thought that Jo’s sister was almost the same as Jo’s self,and the conviction that it would have been impossible to love any other woman but Amy so soon and so well.His first wooing had been of the tempestuous order,and he looked back upon it as if through a long vista of years with a feeling of compassion blended with regret.He was not ashamed of it, but put it away as one of the bitter-sweet experiences of his life,for which he could be grateful when the pain was over. His second wooing, he resolved,should be as calm and simple as possible. There was no need of having a scene,hardly any need of telling Amy that he loved her,she knew it without words and had given him his answer long ago.It all came about so naturally that no one could complain,and he knew that everybody would be pleased, even Jo.But when our first little passion has been crushed,we are apt to be wary and slow in making a second trial, so Laurie let the days pass,enjoying every hour, and leaving to chance the utterance of the word that would put an end to the first and sweetest part of his new romance.
He had rather imagined that the denoument would take place in the chateau garden by moonlight,and in the most graceful and decorous manner, but it turned out exactly the reverse,for the matter was settled on the lake at noonday in a few blunt words.They had been floating about all the morning, from gloomy St. Gingolf to sunny Montreux,with the Alps of Savoy on one side, Mont St. Bernard and the Dent du Midi on the other,pretty Vevay in the valley, and Lausanne upon the hill beyond, a cloudless blue sky overhead,and the bluer lake below, dotted with the picturesque boats that look like white-winged gulls.
They had been talking of Bonnivard, as they glided past Chillon, and of Rousseau,as they looked up at Clarens, where he wrote his Heloise. Neither had read it,but they knew it was a love story, and each privately wondered if it was half as interesting as their own.Amy had been dabbling her hand in the water during the little pause that fell between them,and when she looked up, Laurie was leaning on his oars with an expression in his eyes that made her say hastily,merely for the sake of saying something...
“You must be tired. Rest a little, and let me row. It will do me good,for since you came I have been altogether lazy and luxurious.”
“I’m not tired, but you may take an oar, if you like. There’s room enough,though I have to sit nearly in the middle, else the boat won’t trim,” returned Laurie, as if he rather liked the arrangement.
Feeling that she had not mended matters much, Amy took the offered third of a seat,shook her hair over her face, and accepted an oar. She rowed as well as she did many other things,and though she used both hands, and Laurie but one, the oars kept time,and the boat went smoothly through the water.
“How well we pull together, don’t we?” said Amy, who objected to silence just then.
“So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you, Amy?” very tenderly.
“Yes, Laurie,” very low.
Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected in the lake.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO ALL ALONE
It was easy to promise self-abnegation when self was wrapped up in another,and heart and soul were purified by a sweet example. But when the helpful voice was silent,the daily lesson over, the beloved presence gone, and nothing remained but loneliness and grief,then Jo found her promise very hard to keep.How could she ‘comfort Father and Mother’ when her own heart ached with a ceaseless longing for her sister,how could she ‘make the house cheerful’ when all its light and warmth and beauty seemed to have deserted it when Beth left the old home for the new,and where in all the world could she ‘find some useful, happy work to do’,that would take the place of the loving service which had been its own reward?She tried in a blind, hopeless way to do her duty, secretly rebelling against it all the while,for it seemed unjust that her few joys should be lessened, her burdens made heavier,and life get harder and harder as she toiled along. Some people seemed to get all sunshine,and some all shadow. It was not fair, for she tried more than Amy to be good,but never got any reward, only disappointment, trouble and hard work.
Poor Jo, these were dark days to her, for something like despair came over her when she thought of spending all her life in that quiet house,devoted to humdrum cares, a few small pleasures, and the duty that never seemed to grow any easier.“I can’t do it. I wasn’t meant for a life like this,and I know I shall break away and do something desperate if somebody doesn’t come and help me,” she said to herself, when her first efforts failed and she fell into the moody,miserable state of mind which often comes when strong wills have to yield to the inevitable.
But someone did come and help her, though Jo did not recognize her good angels at once because they wore familiar shapes and used the simple spells best fitted to poor humanity. Often she started up at night, thinking Beth called her, and when the sight of the little empty bed made her cry with the bitter cry of unsubmissive sorrow, “Oh, Beth, come back!Come back!” she did not stretch out her yearning arms in vain. For,as quick to hear her sobbing as she had been to hear her sister’s faintest whisper,her mother came to comfort her, not with words only,but the patient tenderness that soothes by a touch,tears that were mute reminders of a greater grief than Jo’s, and broken whispers,more eloquent than prayers, because hopeful resignation went hand-in-hand with natural sorrow.Sacred moments, when heart talked to heart in the silence of the night,turning affliction to a blessing, which chastened grief and strengthened love. Feeling this,Jo’s burden seemed easier to bear, duty grew sweeter, and life looked more endurable,seen from the safe shelter of her mother’s arms.
When aching heart was a little comforted, troubled mind likewise found help,for one day she went to the study, and leaning over the good gray head lifted to welcome her with a tranquil smile,she said very humbly, “Father, talk to me as you did to Beth. I need it more than she did, for I’m all wrong.”
“My dear, nothing can comfort me like this,” he answered, with a falter in his voice,and both arms round her, as if he too, needed help, and did not fear to ask for it.
Then, sitting in Beth’s little chair close beside him, Jo told her troubles,the resentful sorrow for her loss, the fruitless efforts that discouraged her,the want of faith that made life look so dark, and all the sad bewilderment which we call despair.She gave him entire confidence, he gave her the help she needed,and both found consolation in the act. For the time had come when they could talk together not only as father and daughter,but as man and woman, able and glad to serve each other with mutual sympathy as well as mutual love.Happy, thoughtful times there in the old study which Jo called ‘the church of one member’,and from which she came with fresh courage, recovered cheerfulness, and a more submissive spirit.For the parents who had taught one child to meet death without fear,were trying now to teach another to accept life without despondency or distrust,and to use its beautiful opportunities with gratitude and power.
Other helps had Jo—humble, wholesome duties and delights that would not be denied their part in serving her,and which she slowly learned to see and value.Brooms and dishcloths never could be as distasteful as they once had been,for Beth had presided over both, and something of her housewifely spirit seemed to linger around the little mop and the old brush,never thrown away. As she used them, Jo found herself humming the songs Beth used to hum,imitating Beth’s orderly ways, and giving the little touches here and there that kept everything fresh and cozy,which was the first step toward making home happy,though she didn’t know it till Hannah said with an approving squeeze of the hand...
“You thoughtful creeter, you’re determined we shan’t miss that dear lamb ef you can help it.We don’t say much, but we see it, and the Lord will bless you for’t, see ef He don’t.”
As they sat sewing together, Jo discovered how much improved her sister Meg was,how well she could talk, how much she knew about good, womanly impulses, thoughts, and feelings,how happy she was in husband and children, and how much they were all doing for each other.
“Marriage is an excellent thing, after all.I wonder if I should blossom out half as well as you have, if I tried it?, always _‘perwisin’_ I could,” said Jo,as she constructed a kite for Demi in the topsy-turvy nursery.
“It’s just what you need to bring out the tender womanly half of your nature, Jo.You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernal,if one can only get at it. Love will make you show your heart one day, and then the rough burr will fall off.”
“Frost opens chestnut burrs, ma’am, and it takes a good shake to bring them down. Boys go nutting,and I don’t care to be bagged by them,” returned Jo,pasting away at the kite which no wind that blows would ever carry up, for Daisy had tied herself on as a bob.
Meg laughed, for she was glad to see a glimmer of Jo’s old spirit,but she felt it her duty to enforce her opinion by every argument in her power,and the sisterly chats were not wasted,especially as two of Meg’s most effective arguments were the babies, whom Jo loved tenderly.Grief is the best opener of some hearts, and Jo’s was nearly ready for the bag.A little more sunshine to ripen the nut, then, not a boy’s impatient shake,but a man’s hand reached up to pick it gently from the burr, and find the kernal sound and sweet.If she suspected this, she would have shut up tight, and been more prickly than ever,fortunately she wasn’t thinking about herself, so when the time came, down she dropped.
Now, if she had been the heroine of a moral storybook,she ought at this period of her life to have become quite saintly, renounced the world,and gone about doing good in a mortified bonnet, with tracts in her pocket. But, you see,Jo wasn’t a heroine, she was only a struggling human girl like hundreds of others,and she just acted out her nature, being sad, cross, listless, or energetic, as the mood suggested.It’s highly virtuous to say we’ll be good, but we can’t do it all at once,and it takes a long pull, a strong pull,and a pull all together before some of us even get our feet set in the right way.Jo had got so far, she was learning to do her duty, and to feel unhappy if she did not,but to do it cheerfully, ah, that was another thing!She had often said she wanted to do something splendid, no matter how hard,and now she had her wish, for what could be more beautiful than to devote her life to Father and Mother,trying to make home as happy to them as they had to her?And if difficulties were necessary to increase the splendor of the effort,what could be harder for a restless, ambitious girl than to give up her own hopes, plans,and desires, and cheerfully live for others?
Providence had taken her at her word. Here was the task, not what she had expected,but better because self had no part in it. Now, could she do it?She decided that she would try, and in her first attempt she found the helps I have suggested.Still another was given her, and she took it, not as a reward, but as a comfort,as Christian took the refreshment afforded by the little arbor where he rested,as he climbed the hill called Difficulty.
“Why don’t you write?That always used to make you happy,” said her mother once, when the desponding fit over-shadowed Jo.
“I’ve no heart to write, and if I had, nobody cares for my things.”
“We do. Write something for us, and never mind the rest of the world. Try it, dear.I’m sure it would do you good, and please us very much.”
“Don’t believe I can.” But Jo got out her desk and began to overhaul her half-finished manuscripts.