So I need to apologize, because I meant to post this story LAST SUMMER. That's how bad my procrastination is. But it's finally done, so I hope you all enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: I think I may have unconsciously stolen a couple lines from the book, because LMA's turns of phrase are just so perfect I could not think of any other way to describe things. And the summary is a quote taken directly from the book. But I own nothing.
Angry, agitated notes flooded the warm summer air, while Jo knelt motionless in the garden.
She had initially intended to take a turn about the garden with Beth, to take her mind off the day's events that had gone so horribly wrong. But her dear sister had slowed and tended to the flowers instead, unaware of Jo's torment, so any such distraction to be gleaned from Beth was fruitless.
Before Jo could start fretting over what she had done all over again, the sound of a piano, thunderous and harsh, had filled both the garden and her senses, and Jo had dropped to the ground in exhaustion, for she could not stand any longer. She had known without looking up that it was Laurie.
So now Jo found herself kneeling in the dirt, heavy with the guilt that grew as Laurie played. Of course it would be Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique. Laurie would sometimes play a line or two while she was around, fiddling with the fast, complicated passages. Back then (oh how long ago it seemed!), she had thought it beautiful, haunting. Now, Jo took back that initial assessment as she held back the tears from the pain she could clearly hear coursing through every gloomy chord. This was haunting. And heartbreaking. And every other adjective she had ever used to describe situations like these in her writing, never imagining she would use them in regards to her own life.
Her thoughts leapt to the proposal once again, all the barriers she had painstakingly created that day in crumbled ruins.
She had tried so hard to stop him from making what she knew was a mistake, from asking that dreaded question. All these months she'd hoped it was all in her mind, telling herself that she would not be so vain as to presume that their dear Teddy could harbor feelings for her deeper than friendship. Those unexpected brushes, quiet confidences in the twilight, tender looks of the eye, they were surely nothing. Yes, they were kindred spirits; yes, she could not imagine life without him. But love? No, no, he could not love her.
But the way his face fell when she tried so gently to say no, that she couldn't marry him, not now or ever, she would never forget. And his final wildly desperate attempt, when he'd turned around to face her with a dark, dangerous intensity she had never seen before; in that moment, he had brought all his powers of persuasion to the test, daring her to refuse him what he sought.
Jo could make out his hazy silhouette through the conservatory window. Though she had a bad vantage point lying on the ground, her eyes adjusted to take in the dramatic figure Laurie made seated at his piano – his hair in disarray, the buttons of his vest undone, and the collar of his shirt violently flung open, as if to make Beethoven himself proud. He was fully engrossed in his music; his shoulders rose and fell with the passages' crests and troughs. He seemed to collapse onto the instrument at times, his large hands splayed across the white and black keys as his head sank, but he would pick himself up after a while. Jo watched as he did this multiple times, each attempt to sit back up shakier than the last. Only once did she glimpse his face, and the anguish she saw on it made her turn away at once, feeling dirty, as though she had witnessed something private, not meant for her eyes.
For a moment he faltered, struggling with a section. The notes were supposed to be fast and precise, but Laurie glazed over the whole section, turning it into another sad, sweeping chord that echoed against silence for what seemed like ages. His emotions had the upper hand over the finesse she knew he had as a pianist. Jo knew little about music, especially piano, but her heart understood the striking, dense chords in the way that only one who'd spurned the person playing could.
Oh, unrequited love indeed. When he had confessed that he loved her, hours ago, Jo had not believed him at the time, thinking it just a fancy, borne out of their families' and friends' expectations. She had been sure it would soon blow over, leaving Laurie no worse for the wear. But in that first chord, so harsh as to be dissonant, she knew the truth. He was lovesick, for her. She let out a shaky breath. She still could not believe it. Was she that all-absorbing passion he had hinted at in melodramatic fashion – the one for whom he ceased to worship at other shrines? His flame for whom burned brighter and truer than all else, he had powerfully and darkly declared while in a particularly gloomy mood? Her breath hitched. There had been so many signs she'd ignored, so many turns of phrase and not-so-incidental caresses that made Jo blush as she brought them up in a new light. She remembered that time he had wound his finger about the strings of her apron, a strange look on his face as he slyly tugged her towards him. She had almost tripped, from her own clumsiness, and would have fallen into him. What would have happened? The literary nature of her brain started to recreate the scene, borrowing from all the romance stories Jo had reluctantly read to improve her own writing. But she stopped that train of thought almost instantly, not wanting to go down that unknown path.
Reality had confirmed her fears: her next-door neighbor, violently in love with her. Yes, violently, she thought, her eyes drawn again to his sharp, dynamic movements through the glass. She spied papers strewn across the floor, as if they had been swept about by a windstorm. Even an open bottle of wine sat precariously on the piano cover, to Jo's horror. Her shoulders sunk with the weight.
How could he love her? Jo silently asked the posies. But the posies did not answer, despite Jo's will that they would.
In a moment, the song took a happier, less melancholy, turn, and Jo's heart rose as she hoped it was a sign that his feelings were waning and going a similar route. But Marmee called just then, "Jo, dear, come in. I want you," and a jarring, broken chord reverberated off the walls.
Shaken by the unexpectedly loud noise, its discordant echo lingering, Jo slowly stood up to see to Marmee. What was the cause of the sudden break? Jo, dear, come in, I want you, Jo replayed in her mind as she dutifully walked to the door. When she connected Marmee's words with the utterance of that last chord, that maybe he had heard Marmee's words, and maybe even identified with them (he wanted her), Jo's face crumpled as she momentarily hid in the bushes and sobbed.
"Auntie Jo, Auntie Jo, I want you to hear me play!" yelled a young girl with bright golden hair like her mother.
"Good gracious, Bess, I am coming," said Jo, who finally gave up resisting the hand that tugged at hers. "You know I've been dying to hear you play. And what's this I hear about it being a surprise?"
"Yes, she's kept it a surprise from me too," piped Laurie, who brought up the rear of their little company strolling through the house.
"Well, I wanted to keep it a surprise. I hope you like it," smiled Bess, as they drew nearer to the room where they kept the piano.
"Well I should think we will, considering who your teacher is," remarked Laurie, smugly.
Jo gave him a light thwack on the shoulder. "Oh, you cheeky boy, you never will change. Your father never was one for modesty, Bess." Bess giggled.
Laurie opened his mouth to respond, but they had reached their destination. Through the ornate doors lay a grand piano and shelves upon shelves of books and sheets of music lining the walls. Through the window, the afternoon sun cast a warm, shimmering reflection onto the glossy black piano cover.
"You must stand right here," instructed Bess, pulling her father and aunt into place next to each other a ways away from the piano. "It sounds the best from here."
"You really don't know what she's playing for us?" whispered Jo to Laurie.
"Not the faintest idea. Really!" Laurie whispered back even as Jo glared at his answer. "She wouldn't let me go near the room even when she was practicing. I have really no idea."
Jo started to turn to face Laurie as she spoke, "I wonder--" but then stopped upon hearing the first note.
No, she thought. It could not be. She tried to stop the sinking feeling in her heart from taking hold, but that chord was unmistakable. She could never forget it, though she had tried for years in vain. Why did it have to be the Sonata Pathetique?
Bess played the next note and the next, and with each passing chord and trill, the likelihood of it not being the very Sonata Pathetique that Jo dreaded dwindled. Bess played clearly and correctly, and Jo would have been proud of her niece's skills if she had not been so mentally preoccupied. Jo could not concentrate. As her niece moved into the main theme, Jo could not help but be whisked away to that fateful day twenty-three years ago. She could remember the feel of dirt against her fingers and the petals of flowers she had absentmindedly plucked, as she had pondered how Laurie could have fallen in love with someone as contrary and awkward as her, as deeply as his music had clearly conveyed. That young Laurie, whose passionate and moody ways turned out to be frightening when focused on her.
Jo carefully glanced up at her old neighbor, who still stood to her right. He stood stock still, staring off distantly. His hands rested loosely against his legs, his fingers mimicking the keystrokes, the memory of the music engrained into them, perhaps? So he remembered too. Jo carefully studied his side profile. His firmly set jaw and lips pressed tightly together revealed more than words. She studied the curve of his sharp nose and thick curls of his hair.
Jo realized she'd been staring up at him too openly and quickly looked down at her hands. She could not see him now, but she thought she could feel his eyes turn to her. She grew hot under his gaze, his eyes boring a hole though her. She had forgotten how powerful his gaze could be.
They were standing a few feet apart from each other, but the tension in the air was so thick as to be suffocating.
When she felt it was safe, Jo tried peeking at Laurie again. This time, a shadow had fallen across his face, obscuring most of his features. But she could make out brooding eyes, set against a sullen face, a bitter twist to his brow. This was too similar to the twenty-one year old Teddy of her memories for comfort. One too easily swayed by his passions…
As she followed his gaze down to his hands, she could see him twisting his wedding band.
Jo gulped and her heart leapt into her throat as she tried to erase the image. Blushing red, she clenched and unclenched her own hands, willing herself to calm down, that it meant nothing, absolutely nothing...when a hand touched her elbow and she looked up unexpectedly into the liquid, dark, tender eyes of her dearest and oldest companion. She could not break the stare, but she also could not answer the question she saw in his eyes. Even after twenty-three years.
Bess turned around and eagerly asked, "Did you like it?"
A/N: Bit over the top angst, I know, but I couldn't help it. I love a dark, brooding Laurie. And I'd always meant to write a story about the Sonata Pathetique, because I always loved that line from the book, nor to mention it's my favorite piece of classical music ever. You should all listen to it - you probably already know it, even if you don't realize it. I think it's actually called the Pathetique Sonata, but I like it better the other way around.
Also, I finally visited Orchard House, where the Alcotts lived, last summer - if you're able to, I really recommend going, it was wonderful. Concord is a lovely Massachusetts town, with lots of woods, greenery, and history. I even got a bookmark that holds a piece of text from a 19th century edition of the book. :)