Tender Matters: in which someone decides to avoid someone

Jo could not have received any letter more well-timed. Aunt March was going to Europe, and, without fail, wanted Jo to go with her.

'I must set of at once. I cannot stand being in the presence of the cross boy. He shall hate me forever, I am sure, but oh, this is madness! Will I fit for Europe? Am I too topsy-turvy to be in France? Oh, Marmee, I just wish I had half of Beth and Meg's good sense and brains!' she cried in the midst of confusion of the family on receiving the letter.

Mrs March bended over her work with a shake of her head. 'Now, Jo, be sensible. Aunt March must have chosen you for a reason, and I suppose she has a secret wish of polishing you up.'

Beth secretly giggled behind her book and Meg tried to hide her grin by bending over Daisy. Jo saw, and cried indignantly, 'Whatever is so funny, may I ask?'

'Oh, a mere trifle! Only that the idea of Aunt March trying to polish you seems to pleasantly strange that a person cannot really help laughing,' Mrs Brooke replied with a grin and a nod.

That was a welcome thought, and even Jo had to think it so irresistibly funny that she laughed till she choked and had a fit with her face buried in the sofa. Beth poked her arm and pulled her out of the cushions. 'Don't be silly, Jo. If you want to go, then you shall. I should not care tuppence about what Aunt March is going to do. If she wants you to dance, Flo shall teach you. If she wants you to wear stiff Paris dresses, then you could try to please her, would you not?'

'I could if I tried, but if Aunt March is to be disagreeable I should like to stay home more,' was Jo's only reply. Had Miss March been a genius at French she would not have cared at all about her Aunt March's croaking at her, but Jo March was no genius. Not three months ago she had displayed before her aunt how much of a dunce she was at French and not two months ago had her younger sister accidentally slipped out three sentences perfectly in French before both her aunts and her cousin. Jo knew, quite well enough, that Aunt March was to give her a good polishing and make her just as sophisticated as her sisters, but by Jove! Jo could not manage a whole day with her aunt, and going off to Europe meant spending every minute with her! Quiet, docile Beth would be a better choice of a companion. And just to make things worse, Jo could barely stand Florence. 'A ridiculous baby', Jo called her, and found her habit of finding everything interesting most silly.

Beth sighed. 'Jo, you really have to make up your mind. If you are to go, there shall be all blessings from us, but if you are not, you shall receive equal blessing from us, but Aunt March shall rage.'

Jo didn't know what to do, or what to think. She sighed with a yank of her hair, 'I know I must go, but the company is barely tolerable. If any of you are to go, it should be so much of a comfort.'

'My daughter, you know fairly well none of us can afford to go. Beth is not completely well, Meg can never leave her children, I am too lazy to travel and your mother cannot leave me,' her father tried.

Jo sat still for some moments and, said, at last, 'Fine. I shall go directly. And as for the almost intolerable company: I must try my best to cope.' And turning to her younger sister, 'I shall send for you by-and-by, Beth, when Aunt March thinks it acceptable.'

'Acceptable?'

'Do you truly think, Beth, that Aunt March will want to have two people under her wing at once, when one is annoying? Aunt Carrol might, without hesitation, be welcoming, but Aunt March, no, no!'

Mrs March could really contain herself no longer. 'Jo, Beth has no intention of going along, and pray, if you are to go, dear, do write to your aunt.'

Jo walked away for her pens, muttering things that even she did not understand under her breath. Meg glanced at her, and whispered to her mother, 'Marmee, dear, I should make sure that the girl is completely fine with the plan. She seems to be agreeing to go because we seem to want her to.'

Beth was really to jump to her sister's defence, and cried at once, 'Oh, no, Meg, I am quite certain she wants to go, only that she is not quite at ease of leaving me here, but pray, do not mistake me, I have no intention of leaving home.'

Jo overheard, and wept silent tears over her letter, her pen lingering over the paper, as if about to cross out what she had written. She lingered longer, thought about her sisters' words, signed her letter, and set down her pen. They believed in her. They knew she wanted to go. They knew she had to go away. They believed she could survive with the boring, ridiculous aunt.

Jo March sighed again, and pushed her inkstand aside. All she could do was to wait for Aunt March to come.

.o.O.o.

My dearest Aunt,

I must confess to be shocked to receive your letter, for I had never suspected you to take a fancy to me, but I am much gratified to you, and will accept your generous offer, to accompany you to Europe. I hope I shall not be a burden to you, for I am much clueless about languages, and more so about fashion, but I am very gratified, forgive me for saying so again, for I am so entirely without words.

Yours truly,

Josephine

Aunt March glanced at Aunt Carrol, then at her youngest niece again, as if to figure out some clues, only to find them quite unable to solve the enigma.

'There!' cried she, shoving Jo's note under her nieces' noses. 'That is quite unlike Josephine. Elizabeth, what do you make of that?'

'She was out of humour, I daresay,' Aunt Carrol said quickly, and added, 'Or perhaps too excited to be as careless as usual.'

Beth sat as demurely as she could manage in between her two aunts. 'Aunt, should you like me to play a song or two? This room is quite in want of some music.'

It was quite a miracle, that Beth, the quiet, piquant little Beth, had managed to capture both her aunts' hearts, and Aunt March, quite charmed by her little antics, traded her Josy-phine for her youngest niece. Beth was not quite easily persuaded, at first, but the old lady kindly arranged the great pianoforte all for her personal use, complete with her own teacher, and under such tempting conditions Beth could have agreed with twice as terrifying a mistress. The old aunt, with a surprising maternal eye, observed the child's want of books, and offered her entire collection to her new favourite. And that was all little Beth could ask for, to love and be loved.

'Yes please, my dear, do, and I should like the last one you played, the French song,' Aunt Carrol said at once, lest Aunt March asked questions they could not answer.

Beth wondered a moment, and asked, '"Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman"?'

'Ah, yes, the one.'

Beth retreated to the pianoforte, and began blithely,

'Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman

Ce qui cause mon tourment?

Papa veut que la raisonne

Comme une grande personne

Moi je dis que les bonbons

Valent mieux que la raisonne.'

The aunts laughed at the girl's matter-of-fact way of singing the words, and poor little Beth could do nothing but colour. At last Aunt March said with a rare twinkle in her eyes, 'Now, my dear, I should be quite obliged to you if you are to go along with us to France. Do you not find that very agreeable?'

Beth coloured darker, and said quickly, 'No, no, aunt, I must not accept the offer. I should rather like to stay at home with Papa and Marmee and help Meg with the little children. And Jo needs all the attention in the world, aunt, and I must not be in the way. And Jo has quite a baggage in my hands when she is gone, and I must not trouble Meg with it.'

'Baggage, my dear?' cried Aunt Carrol, fixing her hair from her fit of laughter.

'Yes, of course, aunt, Theodore Laurence.'

The aunts resumed their fits, and poor little Beth tried her best not to colour as much as she could manage. It was not quite - unusual for Aunt March to laugh at her, but Beth could really, only, colour at Aunt Carrol's soft laughter. Presently Aunt March stopped laughing, turned to Beth, and said, with a sly smile, 'Yes, dear, I shall not object your staying back, my dear. Bustle over your baggage and burden, for I should quite like to see that Laurence boy domesticated when we return.'

.o.O.o.

Jo March was not very much a woman of sense, when it came to bidding adieus. She moped about the house, made sarcastic comments over everything in her trunks and scandalised Beth by embroidering her handkerchiefs so ill that once caught by Hannah and the entire stack was gone into the scraps. She climbed into the garret and shook all her pet mice and dusted the place so vigorously that her mother had to come up and beg her to stop. Amidst all the confusion Jo was causing, and the busy household trying to see to everything, Aunt March arrived in her grand chaise, and boisterously demanded for 'Josy-phine'. Beth scrambled to greet her aunt (though mostly to prevent her from seeing the state of things in the house), and quickly took her into the parlour, instead of the drawing room, for there was where Jo had placed her trunks, and was in utter mess, and begged her to sit down.

'You must be tired, aunt, do sit down, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you can wait a quarter of an hour, for Jo is not quite in spirits to see anyone yet.'

'Then Mary and her family must not stay in the chaise. Go fetch them, my dear.'

Beth scrambled away, with a bob of her head and a fluff of her dress. Aunt March smiled with approval, and thought to herself, 'That child is worthy of any rich gentleman, I assure you, and if the Laurence boy is to - ah! Matchmaking days, I'm back!'

At last everything was settled, and the aunts were already impatient to leave, Jo was obliged to bid good-by to everyone, starting by stooping to kiss Daisy and Demi, then giving Beth a greatest hug, and kissing Meg's hand, and hugging her parents and a bustling Hannah. And when it was Laurie's turn, she could not help but stop: his face seemed suddenly pathetic, with his arms wrapped about her as she stood on the step above him, as he looked up at her.

'Oh, Jo, can't you?'

'Teddy, dear, I wish I could!'

Poor Teddy paused, straightened himself with a resolute face, said, 'It's all right Jo - oh, ne'er mind,' and went away without another word.

But it wasn't all right, and Jo did mind, for when the chaise drove away, and she glanced back at her dearest people, she felt as if she'd stabbed her dearest friend, and remembering the minute when her boy left his curly head on her shoulder, she sighed, and wished with all her heart that he might only forget her and love her deserving little sister instead.