A/N: Jo March is the creation of Louisa May Alcott and not my property. This story takes place before the start of Little Women. Day 20 (sled) of the 25 Days of Fic Challenge.
Skirts were a nuisance in settling oneself on a sled, which might explain why great girls of fourteen sat on the side, their hands neatly in muffs, while the boys went flying down the hill.
Jo March was having none of that. She'd fallen heedlessly in love with the red sled the moment the boy in the green knit cap hauled it onto the hill. She must ride that sled. She'd trade whatever was in the pockets of her worn cloth coat, which amounted to three pens in need of mending, a bent horse-car token, a hook of no known utility, and a square of gingerbread meant for her lunch.
Possible hunger rumblings, hours away, were set at nothing by the lure of the sled. A stranger boy would have Hannah's good gingerbread, and Jo would have her minutes as one of the mighty Eskimaux.
The thrill of going head-first warred with the practical knowledge that skirts billowing behind her would make a tangle of trying to steer or brake, thereby making a laughingstock of the sledder. The prospect of clambering up the hill under the weight of shame and snow-soaked wool convinced Jo that there was no dishonor in sitting.
The last moment at the top of the hill—skirts tucked in, weight balanced, feet on the tiller and hands on the ropes, cheeks red with cold—stretched like a held breath. "On the count of three," Jo said.
"One." She felt the boys gather at the back of the sled.
"Two." There was a long, clean run down toward the street, all snow sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
"Three!"
The push took her breath away. She was coasting—she was flying—she was a creature of wind and snow and speed. The cautions that bound her life flew away from her like snowflakes. Young ladies don't do that, Jo. It's dangerous. The problem with sledding is that anything could happen.
Jo laughed as she swooped down the hill, passing boys on lesser sleds and girls whose mouths made little O's of disapproval. Anything could happen. That was the point.
A/N: I've played a little fast-and-loose with sled technology, but Alcott herself seems to give her characters the toys and habits of the era when she's writing (in which this sort of sled definitely was on the market).
