It had been a couple of weeks since Jo's return from New York, and she hadn't heard anything from Friedrich. After the telegram describing Beth's alarming condition had arrived, she'd packed up and abandoned New York in the next available train, leaving nothing more than a hastily scribbled note for him. Had they been in better terms, Jo would have asked Friedrich to accompany her, but his comment about her story had left her hurt and disheartened. Surely he could understand that a young woman aspiring to become an author would have to work twice as hard to achieve recognition in the literary world? But, he had only looked at her with sadness, and said: "You should be writing from the heart."
Those words continued to haunt her, but Jo could not bring herself to pick up a pen after Beth died. And then came another telegram, this time from Amy, informing them of Aunt March's dwindling health and how a transatlantic voyage would prove fatal.
"It's just the same," Marmee had said after reading the missive out loud.
"Will we never be a family again?" Jo asked sadly at no one in particular.
A few days later Amy sent word of Aunt March's death. "There is yet paperwork to attend to," she wrote. "But I'll come home soon. I cannot bear to be alone, half across the ocean, without my family."
Such was the pain Jo carried in her heart that she turned to the only person in her life who could understand her. Without thinking too much on it, she wrote to Laurie in London with an account of their recent misfortunes and asking him to come home.
Another month passed, and one day Jo found herself climbing the old, wooden stairs that led to the attic. She and Marmee were working in cleaning out Beth's old bedroom to prepare it for Meg's coming baby and there were some things that needed to be put away like Beth's favorite doll, her sheet music and other personal effects that had once belonged to her.
She had not been up there for a long time, but as soon as Jo opened the door, all the memories of her youth came floating back to her. In every corner of the room, she saw mementos of happier times spent with her sisters and Laurie: several editions of the Pickwick Portfolio, Amy's coloring pencils and first sketches, the trunk of old clothes they used in their theatrical plays and even the secret mailbox Laurie had once installed in the hedge between the two houses. Tears of joy, sadness, and longing filled Jo's eyes and after standing in silence for a while, taking it all in, she suddenly knew what to do.
Just like she'd done before, she sat at her desk every evening, writing a story about four sisters and all the small occurrences that happened in their daily life. She did not leave out any details, pouring onto the page all their triumphs, misfortunes, fears and secrets, and little by little, she began to heal.
It took Jo all of three weeks to finally have a decent sized manuscript and another to finish correcting it, but at the end of the month, just as the first spring rains began, she had a decent sized manuscript ready to be sent to an editor. With trembling hands she wrapped the pages in twine, pressing a geranium into the bow, and then penned a letter to Friedrich, asking him to pass the manuscript on to his publisher friend Mr. Fields.
It was a difficult letter for her to write for she to openly express all her feelings to him and apologize for leaving so suddenly, but she feared the bridge she'd crossed had gone up in flames, leaving him on the other side. "I would be delighted in hearing how you've been, please Friedrich, do write."
It was a gray morning and the cloud cover that could be seen over the treetops foretold of rain. The garden and orchard were in full bloom and Jo was pleased to see that come autumn they would have a decent crop. She wiped her feet on the back porch and opened the kitchen door to find Tuppy waiting for her by the entrance. "Hello," she said while bending down and petting him.
She placed the basket filled with herbs on the floor and was satisfied to have finished all her outdoor work before the downpour began.
She was rinsing her hands in a bucket of water when she noticed a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper sitting on top of the table. Jo wiped her hands on her apron and strolled over to see her name written in a neat and pointed handwriting.
It took her a beat to understand, but when she did, Jo tore at the package revealing a thick stack of creamy paper upon which was printed: "Little Women, a novel by Josephine March."
"My book!" She cried out, tears slipping from her eyes. "Someone's publishing my book!"
In a rush of excitement, she pulled the sheaves out and ran through the house, screaming with joy. "Hannah! Hannah!" She found the old maid at the dining room table, knitting. "Hannah, someone's publishing my book!"
"Heavens above!" the old lady exclaimed, clapping her hands together and peering at the pages before her.
"But it came with no letter, how did it arrive?"
"A foreign gentleman brought it. Strange kind of name, can't think of it." Hannah stammered. "Fox or Bear or such."
"Bhaer!" Jo cried out. "Did you ask him to wait?"
"I thought he was one of Miss Amy's European friends coming with a wedding gift." Said Hannah innocently, watching Jo tear off her apron and head for the front door. "I said to him Miss March and Mister Laurie are living next door, and then he said he had a train to catch."
"Hannah, you didn't!" Jo gasped, turning to open the front door where she saw an umbrella leaning against the wall. She grabbed it and ran through the front gate and down the road that led to the railway station, praying to be able to catch up with him.
She rounded a bend and in the distance saw a dark, huddled figure walking away from her. "Friedrich!" The sound of her voice carried far in the woods and the figure stopped and turned.
Thunder rolled overhead as she reached finally reached him. "Oh Friedrich, thank you for my book," she said breathlessly. He looked weary and sad, but he still managed to offer her a small smile. "When I didn't hear from you, I thought you'd hated it."
"Oh no," he replied. The soft, deep sound of his voice more comforting than anything she'd ever felt before. "Reading your book was like opening a window into your heart."
"James Fields took it out of my hands and he would not give it back to me. I said: such news I have to give to her myself, but..." He paused, his countenance darkening all of a sudden. "Well, it was a silly impulse."
"No, no! Not silly at all." Jo replied breathlessly. "It's so good to see you..." And she did mean it. She had missed and thought of him more than she cared to admit, and had often wondered if this harp longing was not something like love. "Come and meet my family."
Thunder cracked above them, interrupting her, and the skies opened, letting the heavy, summer rain fall. Friedrich dropped his luggage on the ground and quickly opened the umbrella. "Thank you but I… I have a train to catch." He paused. "I'm going to the west. My ship leaves from Boston tomorrow morning."
Jo's heart sank. "Oh".
"Yes," Friedrich continued, his face bowed low, the German accent thick in his voice. "The schools in the west are young, they need professors and they are not so concerned about the accent." He ended in an attempt to be light-hearted.
"I don't mind it either," she said softly.
A meaningful silence reigned over them and then Jo began speaking in a quick, excited tone. "You see, my aunt left me Plumfield. It isn't a field, it's a house." Friedrich nodded, confused at the sudden change of subject. "It's rather large house, and it isn't really good for anything except a school. And I want a good school, one that would be open to anyone who wanted to learn! But I... I'd be needing someone who knows how to teach..." She stopped. "Is there nothing I might say to keep you here?"
He gazed at Jo with infinite sadness and love. "I confess that I was hoping I might have a reason to stay but..." He paused and sighed as if the words were cutting him from the inside out. "Congratulations on the celebration of your marriage."
Sweet relief washed over Jo. "Oh no, no! That's Amy. My sister Amy and Laurie actually…"
Her joy grew as she saw the cloud of doubt lift from Friedrich's features and heard him give a small chuckle. "No, I'm not married," she said. "Please, don't go so far away."
He became serious. "Jo," he murmured, taking her face with one hand. "Such a little name for... such a person. Will you have me?"
"With all of my heart!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, feeling her world fall back into place, complete at last.
"But I have nothing to give you; my hands are empty!" He exclaimed, offering his open palm.
Jo placed her smaller hand in it and, entwining her fingers, gazed at him with joy and love reflected in her eyes. "Not empty now."