I ALMOST DO
Every time I don't, I almost do.
A year after Beth's funeral, she moves back to New York; as she explains to Marmee, she just wants to make money to keep the family out of the poorhouse.
Of course, as soon as Mrs. Kirk hears of this (and Mrs. Kirk hears of everything), she insists Jo take her old room and everything "could be just like before." So, situations being what they are (bad) and funds being what they are (low), she doesn't have much choice; within a week, she's sitting in her little room on the 3rd floor, looking despondently at the pile of boxes and wondering what exactly she's gotten herself into.
(She almost asked Mrs. Kirk on the way upstairs if he was still there, but she choked at the last minute and thought better of it.)
"Is everything going alright, Jo, dear?"
Mrs. Kirk bustles in, as comfortable and busy and cheerful as ever; Jo tries to smile.
"Yes, definitely. Thanks, Mrs. Kirk."
"Of course, dear. If you need anything, you just holler, okay? And don't forget about dinner tonight; I've got a good roast cooking, and you look a little peaky."
"I won't forget. Thanks."
"Anytime—oh! Professor! There you are!"
(She almost screams.)
"I was just talking to Josephine and making sure everything was all right with her. She's come back, you know."
It seems apparent by the silence on the Professor's part that he did not know; it takes a moment before he says, a little shakily:
"Ah. So Mees Marsch is…returned?"
"Yes, indeed—here, she's sitting in her room nearly drowning in boxes, poor dear. Do you think you could lend a hand, Professor?"
"Of course," comes that funny, grave voice. (She almost unravels all over again.) "Yes…yes, gif me just a moment."
And then he's there at the doorway, and she's there on her bed, and both of them are looking at each other with something that might be panic.
"Ah," he says, a little breathlessly. "M-mees Marsch. I—I haf much sorrow for your loss."
"Oh," she stammers, her heart slamming in her ears. "Th-thank you, Professor."
(She almost calls him Friedrich, but at the last minute she remembers how dangerous that would be.)
"Of course. You—you are needing help with the unpacking?"
"No," she breathes, almost rudely. "No—Mrs. Kirk, I-I can handle it. Don't—don't let's bother the Professor."
"Jo, don't be silly! It'll take years for you to unpack all that. Let the Professor help; he doesn't mind!"
This is indisputable; the Professor evidently does not mind, for within a moment he's unpacking a box of clothes, carefully folding each article with a grave expression.
She can see that something will have to be done—and quickly.
"I-I really couldn't bother the Professor like this…" she says, as firmly as she can. But he looks at her and says quietly:
"I haf need of a little bothering every so often, Mees Marsch. I am too often left to books and quiet; I haf need of noise and freshness."
There's no reason for her pulse to hammer vigorously against her wrist, her fingers…but it does. She can only manage a weak little laugh.
"There. That's settled," says Mrs. Kirk placidly. "Now I've got to check on the roast, dears, but if you need anything, I'm in the kitchen, alright?"
So she's gone, bustling down the steps and leaving Jo with the last person in the world she wants to talk to.
"Where do you want these?" says Friedrich quietly, pointing to a box of books. She looks wildly around the room (she's going to jump out the window before long), gesturing desperately toward the windowsill.
"There—there's fine, Friedrich."
(She almost asks him if he's read anything smashing lately, but the words die in her throat.)
"Das ist gut," he says absently and commences setting them up at the designated area. Jo takes a deep breath.
"Friedrich—"
"Yes, Jo?"
He looks up, right into her eyes, and she swallows.
(She almost tells him she's sorry, she's so sorry and so stupid…)
"Nothing. I—thanks for the help."
He looks away, inclining his head.
"Think nothing of it, Mees Marsch. It is—how you say—what one does for…for a friend."
The word hovers in the air, and she wonders if it feels as inadequate to him as it does to her.
(She almost asks.)
They work in silence, carefully staying at least a box away from each other, and when the last one's done he stands up, bowing slightly.
"I haf papers to grade," he says quietly, not looking at her. "I-If you haf need of anything, Mees Marsch…"
(She almost tells him to for heaven's sake call her Jo—but then she remembers.)
"Thank you, Professor," she replies, carefully closing a box. "I-I will."
(She won't.)
"I will be seeing you then, Mees Marsch."
"Yeah," she echoes, sounding hollow even to herself. "I-I'll see you."
And so he goes, and the door's closing behind him, and she almost almost almost asked him to stay.
