"Laurie!" cried Amy, her voice ringing through the empty hall.

Where was her husband?

Dragging her arm across her forehead to wipe away the sweat that had collected there, Amy Lawrence sank to her haunches with an exhausted sigh, then looked down at the floor, ten feet below her—and at the ladder that had slid to the ground.

Currently, the elegant Mrs. Amy Curtis March was far from her usual flawless form; she was tired, dirty, hot and thirsty. It was a fine Friday evening in June, Plumfield would open its doors to the public for the first time to-night, and Amy—

Amy was currently stuck on a window-sill.

It seemed sensible at the time, climbing up to fix the tulle drapery herself; after all, she had supervised the decorating of the big dining-room and the workers were gone for the day, leaving Plumfield's new owners to prepare alone for the celebration that night.

This was to be strictly a grown-up event, mainly for their sponsors and parents of incoming students—the children would not arrive till the term started next week. Amy felt a familiar shot of pride at what her sister had done, despite her current position on the windowsill; Jo was living her dream now, and Amy could wish her nothing but happiness.

Well, happiness, and… standing on firm ground. She bit her lip between small white teeth and focused on the ceiling, trying not to look down, for when she did, she grew dizzy. And here, in her condition…

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her middle, protecting the little secret she'd kept safe there for the past two weeks. She had wanted to be sure, and now she was; a covert visit to the old, kindly Dr. Bangs had proven her suspicions true. But she hadn't told Laurie, and with good reason, she thought; she was unwilling to take the spotlight from her sister, and some little, selfish bit of herself admitted to wanting to be the only focus when the news came out. She hoped, deep inside her, that it was a girl; a beautiful, perfect, angelic girl, that would draw her father to their side, that he would fall in love with completely, totally.

Amy carefully lowered herself to the sill, resting her chin on her hands and willing both her head and stomach to calm; and unbiddingly, her eyes filled with hot, sudden tears. She wiped them away, angrily; who was she to cry? How could she? She was married to a man she adored, she had a wonderful trip abroad to remember for the rest of her life; she was every inch the elegant woman she'd always wanted to be, a Lady Bountiful that was the head of a social circle she had brought her family back into, single-handedly…

And yet…and yet!

It was Jo, she thought with a rueful smile. Jo with her authorship, Jo with her school, Jo with her strength and loyalty and an aristocratically wild, wild beauty that had bloomed late, but was undoubtedly there. The angles had softened; the grey eyes were the focus of a decided face that was alive with character; the chestnut hair, as unruly as ever, was the perfect crown. Atalanta was fully formed, and though she had been caught, she would never be tamed. Amy faded in comparison, more than she ever had as a child; and once again, she felt the curse of the youngest—shoved aside, but now an adult, so unable to resort to the petty jealousies and bids for attention of yesteryear.

She wished she could be like Beth, she thought with a sigh; to be satisfied with goodness alone; but she could not, and for one awful, wicked moment, wondered what life with Fred Vaughn would have been like, in a foreign country, without the goodness of the Marches to live up to, without her sister's constant presence…..

Amy squelched the horrible thought quickly, looking around as if the walls could read her mind. "I love Jo, and Laurie does too, as a sister," she said determinedly; but her eyes fell on the clock; it had been twenty minutes since they had left her here, and there was no sign…

"Don't think of that," she ordered herself; and in the next moment braced her hands at her side, preparing to angle herself to jump. The fall wasn't quite that steep, she reasoned with herself; Jo and Laurie had taken wilder tumbles when they were younger, tumbling off of barn roofs and such; and she was barely with child; it couldn't do any harm. She would jump; and if she sprained her ankle, then she at least had an excuse to stay home tonight, to hide her face. Smiling wryly, she pulled her skirts clear of her feet and---

"Frau Amy!"

Amy jumped, startled out of her skin at the booming voice in the room; then, her face was suffused with color as Mr. Bhaer's large frame appeared in the doorway, and he hurried inside. He looked nothing short of shocked at her position in the window; and if Amy were not so embarrassed, dirty and tired, she would have laughed herself.

In any event, she did the exact opposite. "Oh, Mr. Bhaer," she cried, extending her arms. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

"It is Fredrich to you," he reminded her, hurrying over. "Achtung! How did you find yourself there? Bist du in ordnung? "he added, startled into speaking German.

Poor Amy tried to manage a laugh, realizing how she must look; quickly, her hands went to her cheeks, wiping away renegade tears that were left behind, and by force of habit, her back stiffened. "I fear that Laurie…and Jo went to do something; they were here with me before, and said they would be back in a few minutes, so I thought I would be all right when the ladder slipped, but they are still gone and I must get down, for I feel rather dizzy, and—"

All of this was said rather rapidly and quite nervously, and Amy never knew how much he retained, for her brother-in-law was under her in minutes; and kicking the ladder aside, he extended his arms.

"You are right, they haf gone out. Just come down, Frau Amy; we haf no need for him; I will take you down softly."

Amy hesitated, but something in his face reassured her, and she lifted her skirts and took the necessary step, experiencing one terrifying moment of free-fall before Fredrich's arms were around her, slowing the momentum, lowering her to the floor.

Amy, ever mindful of propriety, thanked him and tried to step away immediately; but a sudden wave of dizziness hit her and she swayed. Fredrich's expression quickly turned to one of concern, and he took her arm, saying---

"Miss Amy, are you well?"

"I am, sir, but…pray, stay with me for a moment--- " and Amy inhaled, trying to regain her bearings, to take a deep breath, to steady herself. To her horror, she could feel the tears begin to prick at her eyelids again, and she turned her head away.

"Miss Amy—"

"I am fine, Mr. Bhaer, I just—I just…" her voice was trembling now, and she was perilously close to losing control—curse this pregnancy! Mr. Bhaer was now looking at her as if she had grown another head, and she…she….

She was crying, now.

The sobs were not audible, nor were they plenty; but her slender shoulders were heaving, and tears were running down her face. Fredrich didn't quite know what to do, but instinct made him draw her close, and so poor Amy found herself sobbing in the arms of her sister's husband, a man she barely knew. She was sick, tired, dirty, exhausted, and Laurie…

The humiliation was complete, she felt.

"I'm sorry," she hiccuped, struggling to compose herself; Fredrich's kind hand was on her head now, and the petting and warmth coming from his rather substantial frame filled something in her that had been aching for weeks. Her emotions had been high; and Laurie had been absent. When they were first married, it was easy for everyone to roll eyes heavenward and declare, 'Ah, Laurie and Jo--! They will never grow up—!" and excuse the little corner confidences, the late-night strolls, the romping that only seemed to increase now that Laurie had thrown his all into the Plumfield project, but…Amy needed him now. No art treasures, shopping or society teas that Laurie indulgently left her to 'amuse herself' with could fill the hollowness she was experiencing now.

Amy came back to herself when Fredrich's voice cut into her thoughts; it was deep as well as tender, and she knew in one grateful instant what Jo had seen in him.

"Liebste Amy, it cannot be as bad as this," he said reassuringly, producing a pocket-handkerchief akin to a tablecloth in size, and wiping her face himself, much as he would have done for little Daisy or Demi. "Art thou sick?" he added, retreating into that funny Quaker-speak he used at times.

She shook her head, lips trembling.

"Has someone hurt you?"

"No." Amy found her voice finally; it was weak, but there. She was shivering now; and Fredrich slid a large, reassuring arm round her shoulders. "I just—" she inhaled once before trying again. "I want my husband," she said, so quietly that he had to bend to hear the foolish little words. "Where is he?"

Fredrich's face darkened at this, and Amy did not miss it. "He and Jo went out some time ago; they haf not been back since, and I worry, for guests are arriving; but we shall do our best, and hope they haf not met with dis—" he paused, searching for the word. "Misfortune?"

Amy nodded and drew away, twisting her hands in her skirts, noticing for the first time that Fredrich was in evening dress. The thin black broadcloth and snowy white cuffs suited him well, and her critical eye saw no flaws tonight, except—

"Oh, I've wet your front!" she cried, dabbing at it. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Bhaer—"

"Fredrich. And do not worry, it will not show." He suddenly sounded as tired as she did, and his eyes darted towards the door, despite himself. "Frau Amy, perhap it is too much to ask, but guests are arriving now, and someone must receive—"

Amy immediately understood, straightening up and wiping the last of the moisture from her eyes, folding the linen handkerchief into a neat square, and standing on her toes, reaching up to tuck it into the big man's pocket—it was still clean but damp; she had not blown her nose. "Of course," she said and cleared her throat—then reached behind her, untying the sash of the huge black pinafore she wore that had been covering the silvery-blue silk frock underneath. "You will give me a minute to wash my face, Mr. Bh-- Fredrich, and I will join you—"

He nodded, and some of the worry smoothed out his face, but the expression in his eyes was still grave. "Frau Amy," he said, pulling at the well-trimmed beard. "I--- I shall speak to Jo."

In that instant, Amy met his eyes and color rushed up into her face; he understood. Probably better than she did.

Amy nodded, not even attempting to deny anything; and she looked down at her feet, folding the thick black cotton apron into the smallest square she could manage. "I…I am with child, Mr. Bh—Fredrich," she blurted out, surprising herself.

Mr. Bhaer lifted a dark, craggy brow—he was surprised, but not in the least embarrassed to hear her news divulged so frankly; he was European, after all, and lacked most of the American Victorian puritanical views that would have rendered such a subject unspeakable. He congratulated her warmly, wondering at the sudden calm on her face; it was as if she had unearthed a great burden, and a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said softly; and then she smiled, a gentle smile, but one that gave him chills. "I don't quite know why I blurted it out so--- you're the first I've told. Even Laurie doesn't know yet; he's been quite…busy these past weeks, and haven't found the right time to tell him."

Fredrich was shocked, but he managed to hide it; after all, she was pregnant, and pregnant women had their whims. He said that he was indeed very glad for her, and would be glad to rejoice with the family when she told her husband; he would keep discretion, of course, Laurie would never know he knew first. He pressed her not to delay any longer, but to tell him the moment he arrived. "Such news cannot wait for busyness to be over. And I—I will talk to Jo."

When she lifted her chin to smile at him in agreement, he saw a glimmer of something in those soft blue depths that startled him, turned something in his stomach; and as she went to wash her face and rejoined him later, hand resting lightly on his arm, tilting her elegant blonde head, greeting guests with a refinement that complimented his austere academic manner, the disquiet remained. It was only later, when her husband and Jo returned, rather late, flushed, and laughing---

She shot him a secret smile, so slight that he might have imagined it, but so telling he could not ignore it.

This, he knew with a certainty now, would end nowhere good. He was willing enough, was old and tired and patient enough to suffer his wife's defection to a point; she loved him after all, was the mother of his children. But Amy March---

This would end nowhere good.