AN: Thank you to Bluealoe, for her fantastic and detailed betaing - any remaining errors are mine alone. Thank you also to Cadencekismet, for looking it over for canon compliance.
Warning for offscreen character death.
Pausing at the well-used gate, the woman heading towards the old house looked at it with a fond smile. Time had weathered it, as had the many people it had welcomed, but this only made Plumfield more beautiful in the eyes of one who had spent a happy childhood here.
Nan did not even get a chance to knock on the door, for Mrs. Jo had happened to look out of her window and had seen her coming up the drive.
"Nan, my dear girl! You haven't walked all the way here? In the middle of November, too!" the good woman exclaimed, pulling her former student into the house and divesting her of hat and shawl. Jo's voice was nearly as merry, and her attire very much as flyaway, as ever, though time had put more grey into her chestnut mane and more wrinkles on her face. Time, and sorrow; for Professor Bhaer's generous heart had beat its last nearly two years ago, leaving his Professorin a widow.
"Indeed I have!" Nan replied cheerfully. "It's a fine day for walking, not cold at all, and I should be a poor excuse for a doctor if I didn't take my own advice whenever possible."
"How goes the practice, then?" Mrs Jo asked, as they sat down in the parlour.
"Very well indeed! Most of my patients are women; they say that they find it easier to confide their troubles to another woman. The 'Plums' come to me, too, and their children, so I have plenty of variety to keep me busy."
"Do they still call you Doctor Giddy-Gaddy, as they used to when you bandaged their scrapes and took splinters out of their fingers?" Mrs. Jo asked, laughing at the memory of those old times.
Nan laughed too as she answered, "Oh, they do, and I enjoy it very much. That reminds me, Tom came to see me yesterday."
"What had he done to himself now?" exclaimed Mrs. Jo, to whom that name would always call up visions of its owner suffering all manner of injuries.
"Nothing at all, it was his son Fred who was my patient. Tom took him with him while he did some business, and what did the lad do but cut his head open sliding down a staircase? Nothing serious, but it bled a lot - scalp wounds always do - and I don't know who was more frightened when they came in, the father or the son! But Fred was so surprised to hear Tom call me Doctor Giddy-Gaddy, he quite forgot to be scared, and was very brave indeed. He's a fine boy, though I dare say Tom is getting a taste of everything you went through bringing him up."
Mrs. Jo laughed heartily at the story, and could not help getting a touch of enjoyment out of the thought of Tom being landed with a new edition of the little rascal he himself had been. But a thought had struck her while listening, for Nan's face had, unaware to its owner, softened for a moment as she talked of little Fred Bangs. Being who she was, Jo didn't hesitate to speak out.
"Do you ever... well, if things had been different, Fred could have been your son. Do you regret not marrying?"
Jo's worries were settled immediately by Nan's astonished look and decided headshake.
"Certainly not! I like children well enough as patients, it gives me great pleasure to see an ill child get well under my care; and I enjoy being Aunt Nan to my friends' children, but I don't want any of my own. Whatever made you ask?"
"You looked rather strange just now, and I wondered if you were feeling wistful, but I'm glad to hear you're happy."
"Couldn't be happier! I don't mind telling you, Mother Jo, that I sometimes think Nature meant me to be a maiden aunt, but then forgot to give me any brothers or sisters of my own, so you and dear Father Bhaer had to supply them," Nan answered, affectionately clasping Jo's hand and casting a grateful look at the portrait of the good Professor that hung in a place of pride on the wall.
Mrs. Jo squeezed the hand that held hers, too overcome for a moment to speak.
"Nan, that makes me so happy! To give you that brotherly and sisterly love was something Fritz and I longed to do, and I am so glad we succeeded." Then, because she felt so tender, she added merrily, "I must say, though, that remembering how much my sisters and I used to quarrel at times, it may be something of a mixed blessing!"
Nan laughed. "Did you really quarrel so much?"
"Not really," Jo replied, smiling, "though at times it did seem like it - especially to me, for my temper was so sharp that I was usually part of every argument."
"I used to quarrel quite a bit with Daisy, and Tom, and several of the others, didn't I, Mother Jo?" The lady to whom the question was put was obliged to acknowledge that the truth of the statement, and Nan continued. "I still wouldn't have done without them for the world."
"I know the feeling," Mrs. Jo acknowledged. "And when I did have to do without them, even for short times, I felt very lonely." She looked thoughtful. "That's another reason I asked if you regretted not marrying, I think."
Seeing Nan's curious look, she continued.
"When I was a girl, I refused someone who asked me to marry him, because I didn't love him as he wished, but only as a friend. Afterwards, though, there was a time when I think if he had asked me again I would have been tempted to accept, because I was very lonely; though I knew it would have been wrong because my feelings towards him hadn't changed."
Nan had listened wide-eyed to the little tale. "What happened next?" she asked impatiently, just as she used to as a child.
"He married a lovely, graceful lady, who was really far better suited to him than I was, and I found my Fritz, so you see, it all turned out for the best," Mrs. Jo concluded her story with a smile.
Nan nodded thoughtfully. "I understand… But truly, you needn't worry about me. I may be alone, but I'm never lonely, and I'm happy in my independence."
"Proclaiming your declaration again, Nan? What are you two talking about so seriously?" a new voice came from the window, and the women looked over to see a still-curly head looking in through it.
"Come in properly, instead of being so ridiculous!" Jo exclaimed, looking as happy to see her friend as ever, but also - to Nan's sharp eyes - strangely flustered.
"Only if I won't be interrupting, for you seem to be talking about something very important," he replied teasingly.
"Oh, we were simply talking of old times and rejected lovers," said Nan lightly, curious to see what those words would do. She noted at once the quick glance the other two shared, though Laurie merely replied, "Rather a sad subject for such a fine day. Since you mentioned old times, I may assume you haven't crushed another poor suitor's heart with your pestle?"
"No, I haven't had to for some time now. That's one of the great blessings of getting older; men my age are mostly either married or as happy to be unwed as I am."
"Glad to hear it. Now, since Jo is glowering at me so finely, I'll run around and make as genteel an entrance as anyone could wish." Suiting actions to words, Laurie vanished from the window.
That Laurie should be here was nothing very strange or unusual; even in the old days, when he lived in the city, he had visited Plumfield often, and once he moved to Parnassus, he stopped by almost every day. Now, though, his visits were even more frequent. With his lovely daughter gracing her own Palace Beautiful with her husband, and his dear wife gone to the Celestial City to which they all one day aspired, not even the many students of art and music he still entertained could stop him falling into the Slough of Despond at times. When this happened, nothing could lift his spirits like a visit with the dear friend who had always shared his sorrows and his joys, going halves in everything since childhood.
The visit itself might not be unusual, but Nan found Mrs. Jo's behavior distinctly strange. She started to stand up, sat down again, and moved the cushions on the couch in aimless agitation. Nan's eyes were as sharp as ever, and the only diagnosis they could come to was that a flurry of romantic feelings had been roused by Mr. Laurie's arrival. Of course, she reminded herself, they could simply be a result of its coincidence with the little story - for Nan had been quick to guess that Laurie and Amy were the two unnamed people in it. Her curiosity having been no more dimmed by time than her eyes had, she resolved to find out more.
"Now, sir," Jo started, as soon as Laurie had entered and greeted the ladies properly. "Since you disliked our previous subject of conversation, you must find us a new one."
"Certainly, madam! What would your pleasure be? Past, present, or future? Philosophical, light, serious, funny, deep, banal, dramatic, understated?" Laurie replied, eyes twinkling, as he seated himself next to Jo.
"You, sir, are impossible," Jo began, only to be cut off by Laurie, who rose and gave a deep bow.
"Thank you, I do believe it's part of my charm," he replied, with such a droll expression that no-one could keep from laughing.
"Is Dan coming for Christmas, after all?" Nan inquired.
"He is. He wrote in his last letter that after missing so many of Ted's Christmas services, he's determined to come to this one no matter what, even if he has to walk the whole way!" Mrs. Jo's eyes sparkled with the knowledge that one of Teddy's fine Christmas services would finally be heard by "his Danny", who had been quite wild in previous years as one thing after another prevented him from coming.
"Bess is coming too, and Josie, so nearly all of us shall be together again." Laurie smiled at the prospect. "Now, how shall we celebrate it?".
The three looked at each other thoughtfully, wracking their brains for inspiration.
"I know!" Nan exclaimed suddenly, an idea springing into her mind. "Let's have a play! We haven't had one for ages, and it would be just splendid. You can write it, Bess will delight in designing the scenery, and Josie will play five parts at once if you write them for her. I'll get all the 'original Plums' to help, and it will be great fun!"
"It would be jolly," Jo said thoughtfully, though her eyes had lit up at Nan's speech. "But I'm afraid many of them might not care to act..."
"I think they would if you asked them too, or they can help backstage. The little ones could take part, too, and they'd enjoy acting as much as we did as children, I'm sure," Nan replied, determined not to have her splendid idea wet-blanketed.
"I think it's a capital idea, and I'll gladly undertake scripting duties if Fletcher here will help me. Come, now, you won't leave your Beaumont in the lurch, will you?" Laurie asked, in the wheedlesome tone he knew Jo found so hard to resist.
"If he keeps being so absurd, I might," Jo laughed, now fully caught up in the excitement. "I love the idea and you know it, but we need to know who's willing to act before we start writing... I'll write an absurdly melodramatic part just for you, and make you act it, if you keep carrying on like this!" For Laurie had swept a deep bow before seizing her hand and kissing it. Jo retrieved it sharply, but couldn't hide, or wasn't aware of, the blush that had crept up her face, which Nan noticed at once. She had seen, too, that Laurie had – for an instant – tried to retain Jo's hand, as if loath to release it.
"Do you have pens and paper on hand? We could start making a list of what people might do," Nan proposed.
Jo rummaged in her desk drawer for the requested items, which were never far from her, and soon her hands were ink-splattered as all three suggested ideas. Before long, though, the chiming clock reminded Doctor Nan that she had promised to visit a patient's home that evening, and that it was a fair way to walk, so she hurriedly prepared to make her leave. She had seen enough of the behaviour of Mrs. Jo and Mr. Laurie to be quite convinced that her diagnosis of a blossoming love affair was probably correct, though it would require more observation at a later time to be sure. She was very pleased with this conclusion, and even more so with her idea for the Christmas entertainment that would require them to spend plenty of time working together - often, in her experience, an excellent way of watering the first green shoots of new love.
The pair of newly appointed playwrights insisted on seeing Nan to the door. As she strode away, Laurie remarked, "You know, Jo dear, you did fine work with that girl. Who would think she's the same person as 'Naughty Nan'?"
"I'm so happy to hear that, Teddy. When I remember the wild harum-scarum child she used to be, I can't help being both grateful and amazed at what a fine woman she is."
"I remember another wild girl who turned out wonderfully, so I'm not surprised that Nan did well with such a good example to guide her," Laurie said, looking down at Jo with tender admiration.
"Thank you, Teddy," she said softly as she waved back to Nan, who had turned to wave at the gate. Then, looking at him with a smile, she added "So, Beaumont, shall we continue?"
"Certainly, Fletcher." He offered her his arm, and the couple headed back inside; not only to begin planning the new play, but to act out - unconsciously, so far - the beginning of the romance that was soon to light up their lives, though as yet only Nan's keen eyes had caught a glimpse of it.
THE END