"Delivery for Miss Elizabeth March!" Laurie bellowed, bursting through the kitchen door with much fanfare. He'd collected the letters and bundles in the post-box that morning, after they'd been baptized gently by a chilly September rain. Collecting the mail was one of Beth's few duties, but he knew it was unlikely his fail neighbor would venture out to-day. Her constitution was still very delicate, and would be treated so.
"Beth?" here, the young master Laurence tried again, pausing for a moment to remove his dirty overshoes, leaving them out on the porch. Hannah had threatened, in usual fashion, to make Laurie eat any mud he tracked in after a particularly bad episode two months before, on a day as rainy as this one. Laurie then banged the old door with a terrific rattle that only had been rivaled by Jo in the past. He did it somewhat deliberately now; it was a fitting tribute to her absence, he thought. "Beth-!"
In the next moment, Laurie was accousted suddenly by a wild-haired, wide-eyed appirition that rounded the corner in a flash, shawls dropping on the floor behind it. The creature gesculated wildly before clapping a hand over his mouth. He recognized her after the moment had passed; it was Beth, and she was clearly very agitated.
"Sh-sh-sh-!" the smaller girl hissed, almost frantically. Laurie's eyebrows shot skyward; this was most uncharacteristic of his gentle neighbor. "What-" he managed from behind her hand.
"Oh, do hush," Beth begged, looking over her shoulder furtively, speaking in a stage whisper. "The Moffats are here to see father, they say- and I wouldn't mind it- much- except that Ned is with them. Mother told them that I'm resting, but they mustn't know I'm in here."
"Indeed!" Laurie's brows reached thier limit. "Well, I cannot blame your avoiding his company."
Poor Beth had calmed down now that Laurie lowered his voice. With a nod of thanks, she reached out and took the small bundle of letters from him and placed them on the table. "I'm not afraid of company," she said softly, squaring thin shoulders. "Not as much anymore. But I don't care for Mr. Moffat. He-he smirks a great deal, and he used mother's good china for his cigar when last he was here."
Beth's voice was so quietly indignant that it reminded Laurie of the mouse that roared; he told her so, laughed silently, and bent and kissed her on both cheeks, French-fashion, very brotherly. "Perhaps I should go out and say hello." He bent to retrieve the shawls that Beth had lost earlier, draping then over her arm. "I haven't seen him at the club lately."
"Annie is there too," Beth said a little primly.
Laurie looked taken aback; then he laughed again without sound, albeit a little more uncertainly than before.
"Annie-Annie, did you say? Well, p'rhaps I won't then."
Beth was too shy and too well-mannered to pry as Jo would have done, or even Amy, but the sudden bend of her head seemed to have same effect on Laurie as a priest to a confessor. "It has been some time since- well, can't even call it a flirtation, really, we both were just having a bit of fun-"
No reply from Beth.
"Oh- hang it!" The young man planted himself emphatically onto the hired boy's stool, then stretched out his long legs defiantly, taking up a quarter of the space in the kitchen as he did so. "You don't scold as Jo does, but somehow you're worse."
"I have nothing to say." He could barely hear her.
"No?"
"No. Annie is very...social," Beth tried. "Like you, sometimes."
"Indeed she is," Lauries agrees with more than a hint of irony. "But she is not for me. Neither am I for her, which she would realize if her mother would abandon her foolish notions..."
Beth's face grew hot and she said nothing; she was unused to such frank talk, and did not know what to say.
"Anyway-!" Laurie broke out of his reverie and gave himself a little shake, as if ridding himself of the distasteful subject. "It looks like we are quite trapped, for we cannot go upstairs without being seen, and we cannot go round to my place, as it is quite damp outside-" he nodded in the direction of the sodden letters he'd brought in. Beth was turning one of them over in her hands, eyes suddenly bright in her thin face.
"You are not listening to my ruminations, Miss March," Laurie teased; then his face quite altered. "Is it...Jo?"
Beth nodded, delightedly. "It's so thick," she said with childlike pleasure, running her finger-tips over it. She would not open it before Marmee was there, although she was tempted.
" I see." Laurie tried with some difficulty to keep jealously from his tone. Since Jo's flight to New York a month ago, he'd only received two brief missives; one coal-dust stained, ink-spattered post-card featuring two hideously fat cherubs, announcing she had arrived safely, and the other a handbill on the dissipative effects of sweet-fern cigars on the male brain. Amusing, yes- but hardly satisfactory, given how much he-
Laurie looked up then and then colored rapidly when he saw that Beth was watching him keenly, a new softness in her eyes.
"I'll read bits to you if you like," she said in her usual manner; and Laurie cleared his throat, embarrassed.
"Might be amusing, hearing what scarapes the dear old girl's got herslef into," he said roundly, hating the roughness in his voice.
An awkward moment passed, during which Laurie rubbed a hand over the fashionably shorn head that Jo complained about so much before leaving. Beth glanced at him as she went methodically through the rest of the mail, thinking idly that it was a shame he'd sacrificed the thick waves; his curly crop had made his eyes seem darker, brighter, if that was at all possible.
Laurie's eyes suddenly met hers, and it was her turn to flush. He didn't notice though; he was preoccupied with some other thought, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.
"Beth," he spoke soberly, then broke off. "I'm not- that is, I can't-"
"It's all right." she reached out hesitantly, touched his arm. Laurie never had favored her with the kind of confidences he shared with Jo or even Amy, sometimes- but she knew that now she was all he had. She fumbled over her next words very awkwardly, but quite sincerely-
"If you should ever want to talk, Laurie-"
"Thank you, Beth." Laurie answered quickly; his voice was kind as usual, but the meaning was evident. Beth dropped her eyes, turned away. An uncomfortable silence descended, one that Laurie broke in seconds by speaking quickly, lightly-
"Heavens, suddenly I'm as hungry as an angry she-bear. What is there by the way of food, Beth? We'll have an early tea."
Beth cleared her throat, a little hurt at being brushed aside so easily- was she a child, after all? She might not be Jo or even Amy, but-
"Beth?" he was peering at her now, eyes worried.
"Of course you can have a bit, if you want it." She found herself answering him quite naturally, and he visibly relaxed. She began to rummage about in the pantry, glad to occupy her hands. "We've new bread, very light and good; Hannah did a baking last night. There's marmalade and olives and sardines and cold hash from this morning, and-"
"Squashed-fly biscuits!" Laurie exalted, falling upon the little currant cookies with enthusiasm; they were his favorite, Beth remembered belatedly.
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Beth." He was practically bounding now, full of his old energy. "Give me your shawl-"
"Why, Laurie-"
"-and step out into the hall with me. We," Laurie announced grandly, "will have a picnic, Miss March."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
It was the nicest picnic Beth had ever been on, and she told Laurie so between bites of marmalade and bread, eating with more appetite than she'd felt in months. Laurie had spread her shawl and two tea-towels on the hall floor, using his broadcloth overcoat as a cushion for Beth- and they reclined with quite a lack of gentility, enjoying their sundry lunch while eavesdropping on their elegant callers.
"We mustn't, Laurie, it really is too bad," Beth had protested initially when he suggested the scheme- and indeed, it seemed rather wicked to her. Beth's protests became half-hearted, though, for as she prepared their lunch the bad boy popped in and out of the hall, claiming to overhear snippets of conversation that made her eyes grow wide as the stories grew more fantastic. Annie was joining the army as a nurse- Mrs. Moffat admitted she was descended from a line of pirates- Ned wished to make her his wife along with Sallie Gardnier, as he had turned Mormon-
Finally, laughing softly as she hadn't since she was a girl, Beth joined him, and he was right- it was amusing. The Moffats were eager to share every bit of malicious gossip in their arsenal and Mrs. March was just as eager to wet-blanket them; Annie made absurd comments when talk turned academic that she clearly thought were quite perceptive; Ned teased her mercilessly; she said some very sharp things to him; Mrs. Moffat scolded them absent-mindedly, while asking Mrs. March what she clearly thought were tactful questions about their financial state now that Mr. March was home ("Will there be an income now?")
"Oh, how horrid," Beth whispered to Laurie, who was shaking with suppressed mirth. He laughed until the conversation turned to him, with Annie asking very pointed questions about if he would be expected that day; then it was Beth's turn to laugh.
The hall door suddenly opened after a particularly long lull- and Marmee stepped into the hall, lips compressed. Laurie flew to his feet, looking guilty; Beth was not as quick, and ended up tumbling on her side, clutching Laurie's trouser-leg for support.
Marmee's mouth dropped open; she was unaccustomed to seeing her third daughter so undignified. One look at the pale young lady and the scarlet young gentleman, though, and she knew exactly what they'd been up to.
"Marmee-" Beth began, mortified.
Mrs. March's mouth twitched. "Tidy your mess before you leave, Laurie," she said, then gave him a maternal pat on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen- to refresh the tea-pot, apparently.
Laurie and Beth exhaled at the same time; Laurie sank back down on his haunches, but Beth, feeling guilty, began picking up thier tea things.
"Oh, she didn't mind, Beth- she's probably delighted you're having a good time. I know I haven't seen you look so well in ages," Laurie said, snaking his arm round her in order to snag a raisin from the crock she was trying to cover.
Beth supressed a smile despite herself and was about to answer, when suddenly a voice came through the door, clear and most likely louder than was intended-
"-I thought she was at home. Where is the girl? I begin to doubt she exists."
"Haven't seen her in years-" this was Ned, answering his sister. "I really can't say I would remember what the child looks like."
"She was quite ill, wasn't she?" This was Mrs. Moffat. "Such a pity. I heard she recovered, though- she is old enough to be out, and should be- the youngest is abroad, and the one before her is gadding away in New York. Working as a governess, or something just as vulgar. What can her mother be thinking? Is she delicate? "
"A bit, but not crippingly so." This was Annie, whose voice took on the tone of an expert on Beth, and all invalids for that matter. "She is...sweet. Not unattractive, although of course she's frightfully thin-"
"I thought that was a good thing." Ned apparently poked his sister at his juncture- shee squeaked a bit, but continued after a bit of rustling.
"I see her in the garden sometimes, at church. A poor, gentle creature of no spirit whatsoever." Annie paused again. "I remember her from when we were girls- barely. She never went to school, only ventured out sometimes, a virtual church mouse. Visiting the poor- that's what made her ill in the first place."
Mrs. Moffat sighed audibly. "A pity- she is such a burden. If she is out of danger, then, why doesn't she do something with herself-?"
Ned's deep chuckle came in. "March has a surplus of daughters, mother. He can afford for one to be useless."
At this cut, Laurie inhaled sharply- and turned to look at Beth; they'd both been listening in horror. However, all he saw was the hem off her skirt, disappearing through the kitchen door, just as her mother came out. The older woman's face was creased with confusion. "Beth just- is she-"
"I'll check," Laurie said, then sprang up, went in the kitchen after Beth.