Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion, combined in a Little Women story. 19th century New England, as Alcott had it.
Disclaimer: names that you recognize from Jane Austen's masterpieces are NOT mine. And lots and lots of the writing is not mine, either. More lines than I care to admit are stolen shamelessly from Louisa May Alcott. Much of the plot is borrowed from her lovely story, too. To surmise, anything that you recognize is NOT MINE.
A/N: Thanks a bunch to those who are following this story! I hope you enjoy these chapters, I've added all I have, so it might be a while before I post again. Happy reading!
Hugs,
E.S.
The March Girls, Chapter Two
Elizabeth woke early in the fresh dawn. She opened one eye, then the other, and shut both at once when she saw the room swathed in tender light. Then she remembered the day, and her eyes flashed open again; she sat up excitedly, causing the bed to shift a little – Anne groaned, and turned over sleepily. Elizabeth nudged her, until at last poor Anne finally awakened.
"Lizzy," she said.
"It's Christmas, Annie! Christmas!" returned Elizabeth. She fell back on her pillow with a contented sigh, and then yelped.
"What is it, Lizzy?" said Anne worriedly. For though her sister did have a very annoying habit of waking her at the most inopportune times, she still loved her, and would never wish any harm upon her.
"My pillow is as hard as a rock," said Elizabeth, sitting back up, and twisting around. She gave the pillow a poke at once cautious and belligerent. Then she reached under it, and withdrew a pale canary yellow volume.
"Oh, it's a book. Is it the one you wanted?" asked Anne.
"No, it's Pilgrim's Progress," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "Come, Annie, look under yours, and see if you have one."
Anne did so, and also found an edition; hers was a soft dove colour, and Anne smiled in her quiet, sweet way as she traced the binding reverently with her finger. Elizabeth bounded happily off the bed, and into the adjoining room, where Jane and Emma slept.
"Merry Christmas!" she said.
Emma's dark head emerged from under the covers, and she opened her eyes blearily; then she groaned, and turned over, burying her head beneath her pillow. This was not entirely conducive to sleep, since there was beneath it a soft lavender book, which made direct contact with Emma's nose.
"Ow!"
Elizabeth giggled.
Jane sat up drowsily, her golden hair in tangles. She looked concernedly at her sister.
"Are you alright, Emma?"
"Yes," said Emma grumpily, sitting up and rubbing her nose. She looked crossly at Elizabeth. "Merry Christmas, indeed, you little imp."
Elizabeth giggled again, and gave Emma's nose a playful tweak. "Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o'er the plains..." she sang, dreadfully off-key. Emma held her hands to her ears in protest, and Jane laughed.
"I think Lizzy sounds lovely, just like an angel," said Anne, staunchly defending her sister. Emma rolled her eyes heavenward, and held the back of her hand to her forehead, dramatically falling back on her pillow. She failed to reckon on the book, however, and sat back up with a startled yelp, much like Elizabeth's.
The girls all erupted into laughter then, even Emma, who joined in rather begrudgingly. They quieted down after some time, and Jane and Emma examined their books; but Anne suddenly hiccupped, for she had not quite recovered yet, and the girls broke into fresh giggles anew.
"Oh, stop, stop!" gasped Jane, leaning back. "Come, Lizzy, fetch your book and Anne's, and we will read together."
Her eyes full of mirth, Elizabeth bounded back into the other room, and returned almost instantaneously with both the yellow and dove-coloured volume.
The sisters all gathered on the floor by the window, in a cozy little circle, and began to read companionably. Jane sat next to Anne to help her with the hard words, and Emma kept Elizabeth focused by poking her shoulder or pulling her braid. The silence was pleasant around this pretty scene, the young girlish faces looking so earnest perusing the words, and was only disturbed by the rustling of pages and an occasional "Ow!" from Elizabeth, when Emma poked too hard.
"We must resolve to read a little, every day, henceforth," said Jane solemnly, when they were done. She had a sweet, pious nature, that exerted an unconscious influence over her younger sisters,
"I certainly shall," said Emma. "I feel refreshed, hopeful sort of, when I read it. To be sure, it is not as exciting as novels, but it is infinitely better for me, I think."
"Anyhow, it's Christmas, and we should all prepare Marmee's presents. I have mine ready," said Elizabeth.
The girls all ran down, and Hannah met them in the room. "Where is Mother?" asked Jane.
"Goodness only knows, some poor creature came a-begging, and you know there was never such a tender-hearted lady as your ma to give out drink and vittles and clothing," replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Jane was born, and was considered more as a friend than a servant.
"She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything ready," said Emma. She withdrew the little basket beneath the sofa, which was filled with all the girls' gifts. Elizabeth lifted the cloth that covered it, and took a peek.
"Why, Emma, is that yours?" she cried, indicating a magnificently large flask of cologne.
Emma blushed. "Yes, I felt so guilty purchasing only such a small thing for dear Marmee, and so returned it for a larger. You see I did want to start to be less selfish," and she sounded so earnest and humble that Elizabeth hugged her on the spot, regardless of the basket, and pronounced her "a trump". Jane smiled, and commended her generosity, while Anne offered her nicest ribbon for decoration. Emma thanked them gratefully.
"Oh, look!" exclaimed Elizabeth, looking into the basket once more. "Annie's gone and stitched 'Marmee' onto every one of her hankies, instead of 'M. March'. How funny!"
"Isn't that right? I thought it would please her," said Anne, looking troubled.
"Of course, dearie, it's very sweet of you to think of that," said Jane soothingly, frowning at Elizabeth and giving Anne a kiss.
"There's mother! Hide the basket, quick!" exclaimed Elizabeth, when they heard the street door opening and closing, but not before reassuring Anne and saying that it was a remarkably clever idea.
The basket darted under the sofa and the girls to the table, waiting eagerly for Marmee and breakfast.
"Merry Christmas, Marmee! Thank you for our books, we read some, and mean to everyday," said the sisters in unison.
"Merry Christmas, girls! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will continue," said Mrs March, smiling. Then she looked at her daughters seriously, and said, "Not far from here lies a poor woman with a newborn baby. Six other children are huddled together on a single bed to keep warm, for they have no fire. My dears, will you not give your breakfast to them as a Christmas present?"
They were all silent for awhile – they were hungry, and had waited nearly an hour for their breakfast. Elizabeth was first to break the silence, for she said, in her own impetuous way, "I'm so glad you came before we began!"
"May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" asked Anne eagerly.
"I shall take the cream and muffins," said Emma. And they all thought her very heroic to give up her favourite articles.
Jane was already piling the bread into one big plate, and covering it in a basket.
"I thought you'd do it," said Mrs March, her eyes beaming proudly. "Come, dearies, you shall all help me, and when we come back we shall have milk and bread for breakfast, and we will make up for it at dinnertime."
Hannah carried some wood, and thus the procession set out. It was still early, so no one was out to laugh at the queer party. They went through the back streets, and when they came to the poor run-down place their faces softened and took on benevolent expressions.
The room was poor, bare, and miserable, with broken windows and no furniture, except a cold-looking single bed, on which there huddled six hungry-looking children. A mother was weeping by it, holding in her arms a scrawny baby, wailing pathetically.
"It is good angels come to us!" said the poor widow, her tears turning to those of joy. The children's blue lips smiled and their eyes shone hopefully. "Angels," they repeated in a chorus.
"Funny angels in hats and mittens," said Elizabeth.
"And one with a singed braid," added Emma, and set them all laughing.
Hannah set up a fire, and the children moved closer to the blaze. Elizabeth, ever the handyman, stood on a wobbly stool and attempted to stop the broken windows with old hats and her own cloak. Emma set out the table, and Anne sang softly to the children, while Mrs March comforted the widow with promises of help. Jane dressed the little baby, with such a loving, motherly expression, that the child stopped wailing and giggled up at her.
It was such a happy scene, though poor and bare; and I'll wager that there was more joy in that single room than any elegantly furnished fashionable home. The children laughed, and that Christmas cheer stole into their hearts slowly; their gratitude warmed the girls more than the most ravishing meal could have.
Anne gently stroked a small child's hair, a little four-year-old girl who seemed so very thin and frail. A tear fell on the girl's pale cheek, and the widow squeezed Anne's hand, whispering words of her hopes for the child.
The poor shaken door opened again, with a blast of wind and admitting a thin, shivering boy. He looked to be fifteen or so, with wide brown eyes that seemed too large for his wan face, and patched trousers and shirt. He looked in shock at the March girls assembled, and looked bashful while he tipped his hat, which looked like a very scrunched-up piece of fabric.
"Freddie," cried the children. The boy's stride was powerful for his slight frame, and he walked to the widow's side, pressing a coin into her hand.
"God bless you, Fred," said the widow, tears springing to her eyes.
"It's the least I could do," he replied gruffly, turning to leave. He turned at the door, and looked quizzically at the March family once more, then tipped his hat again and walked out.
After the door closed behind him, the widow turned to Mrs March, and said in a low voice, "There never was a kinder boy than Fred. He works for the Brookes, and doesn't earn much, but he never forgets his poor aunt." She sniffled.
Mrs March patted her hand comfortingly.
"Freddie always tells us stories when he can," little eight-year-old Bertha was confiding to Anne, Elizabeth, Emma, and Jane. "He's so funny too, and tells all sorts of adventures from the war. He's going to enlist, you know, to be a soldier soon. Isn't that wonderful?"
"War is never wonderful," said Jane, thinking of Father.
When the girls went away their hearts were light, thinking tenderly of the poor children, and forgetting their own hunger entirely. When they stepped into their own comfortable, warm home, they felt very fortunate and blessed indeed.
They ate their milk and bread without even thinking of complaint, and when Mother went upstairs to collect clothes for the poor Hummels, they set out the presents on the table. It was not a very grand affair, but each article was done up with such love and care, that they knew Marmee would be pleased.
"She's coming! She's coming!" cried Elizabeth. "Three cheers for Marmee!"
Anne played her gayest march, and Emma threw open the door. Jane enacted as escort, being the tallest, and conducted Mrs March to the table with great dignity. Mrs March was both touched and surprised, examining her gifts with bright eyes and reading the notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief slipped in her pocket, well-scented with Emma's cologne, and the gloves were pronounced a perfect fit.
There was a simple and loving charm in the way the gifts were given and received, that made it so pleasant at the time, and so sweet to remember long afterward.
The day flew by with the girls making merry, singing carols and hymns, and composing a nice long Christmas letter for Father. And when they all gathered together for dinner there was a wonderful surprise for them.
For on the table was ice cream, bonbons, and fruit, as well as a ridiculously large cake – such a size could only be ridiculous, since the departed days of plenty. And in the center were two large bouquets of hothouse flowers. It was like Mother to get up a little treat for them, but such an extravagant affair was quite unheard of. The sisters looked on with eyes filled with wonderment, thinking that the race of angels wasn't entirely extinct.
Anne voiced their thoughts. "Is it our angels?" she whispered, her gentle blue eyes shining.
"Mother did it," said Jane and Emma simultaneously, with identical bright, sunny smiles.
"Lady Cat had a fit of benevolence, and sent the supper!" cried Elizabeth, with sudden inspiration.
"Not quite, dearie. Old Mr Bingley sent it," said Mrs March, beaming.
"The Charlie boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don't know him," exclaimed Emma, fingering a bonbon as if she was afraid that it was only the stuff that dreams were made of.
"Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party, and that pleased him. He knew my father years ago, and asked to send some trifles for my children in honour of the day. I couldn't refuse, and so now you have this supper to make up for your milk-and-bread breakfast."
"That boy put it into his head; I know he did! He seems a capital fellow, and looks as if he'd like to know us, but he's bashful. I wish we could be friends, and Emma thinks so too, but Jane is so prim that she won't let us speak to him when we pass," said Elizabeth, as the ice cream was passed around, and everyone ate to their heart's content.
"It isn't proper. He looks pleasant, however, and a gentleman, though I daresay he can't be much older than I am," said Jane thoughtfully.
"Annie's cat ran away once, and he brought her back," volunteered Emma.
"It was so kind of him to bother with Snuffles," said Anne. "He and Emma talked awhile, and he seemed very nice, although I was too shy to speak with him."
"But he walked off when he saw Jane, blushing all of a sudden," remarked Emma, biting into a candy.
"It was a bit rude of him, I think," said Jane. "I would have had no objection to conversing with him."
"Well, he does seem to have nice manners, and I've nothing against your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He brought the flowers himself, and I would have invited him in, but he went away in rather a hurry. He looked quite wistful," said Mrs March.
"He has a cousin, too," said Emma. "Charlie said he was a bookish sort of boy, the same age as him, but rarely ever coming out of the library."
"How I wish I could have such a haven!" said Elizabeth, sighing wistfully. "Lady Cat never lets me read for more than fifteen minutes straight, and it is so hard to find any interesting books. They're mostly sermons." She made a face.
"Now, Lizzy, it's Christmas, and you mustn't say such things, or make such faces," chided Jane.
"Yes, we do have much to be thankful for, don't we?" said Emma, chewing on her candy contentedly.
"How beautiful these flowers are," sighed Anne, touching a delicate pink petal.
Mrs March drew her close, and gave her youngest daughter's forehead a kiss.
"Not nearly as beautiful as seeing you so rosy and happy," she said tenderly. Anne laid her head on her mother's shoulder, as was her wont.
"How I wish Father was having as nice a Christmas as ours," said Elizabeth softly.
As if agreeing, the clock chimed, and the kettle whistled; outside the window the North Star shone brighter than the rest, and all the girls looked upon it, wondering if Father was seeing the same star, or thinking the same thoughts.