Chapter 11

Porcelain

I sigh in relief as I shut the door. I'm not used to having secrets and even worse at hiding them. My head aches from my midnight sewing. Jo has lost herself in a story up in the attic, so it wasn't hard to find time to mend Ahren's shirt, but it felt like a futile task, taking much longer than I expected. I tried to keep cheerful, grateful that out of all the slices the glass created in his shirt, I only had to sew up two on his actual skin. It's mended, washed, and even ironed but so badly discolored and patched that I hope he never wears it again. I've found the smallest of Father's shirts and tucked it in on top, though there isn't time to take it in for a proper fit for Ahren. If I don't return a shirt of some type today, he may have to go hiding shirtless under his coat for some time.

I don't know why I keep thinking this, but it's become almost a refrain that drives me out of the warm bed, through a sleepy breakfast, and out into the snow. Perhaps the baby or Mary has grown worse, so they won't let me return. Perhaps Ahren will finally find employment and be busy working. Or perhaps the men of the town really will drag him off to jail for inciting his father into pushing him through the window of the pub-a window they can't pay for because his father gambled it all away.

I eye the thermos of soup wrapped in a quilt that will keep some of the Hummels—though likely not Ahren—warm. There was no money to slip in, but I did pilfer some of Hannah's rolls, deciding I could go without for the week. Still, a week of giving up part of my dinner will only give the Hummel family half a roll or less for one meal.

But it will help. I cannot rescue the family—though I nearly promised Mary I would—but I can help. Right now, though, I feel too tired to do much more than climb back into my bed. I glance toward the windows, looking for movement, but the Hummel's have used a tray to block most of one and drawn the curtain on the other. Without animals, there's no reason why Ahren should be in the barn, but I still feel disappointed when I slip through the door he's left open just enough to allow access.

Perhaps he thought ahead like I did that I won't be able to give him his shirt back right in front of his sisters, at least not without a long explanation.

The blood has dried into dark stains, mostly soaked into the wood, almost like yesterday never happened, except for the tail end of a bit of blue thread curled where I dropped it.

I can't decide whether to lay Father's shirt on top because it looks better or his, so I don't upset him thinking he didn't get it back. I try Father's first but end up shaking my head and switching them.

"Bet?"

I never heard him come, and I cry out, making us both jump. Ahren's hands go up, and I wonder how many times he begins panting from pain instead of fear whenever he speaks.

"I'm sorry!"

My hand is across my chest, but I force a laugh. "I don't know why I'm so jumpy."

Except, I do. For a moment, I thought it was Mr. Hummel.

Ahren's skin is blue under his eyes, puffy like he didn't sleep at all. But he takes a breath. "I ... I made you something. Some time ago, but I was too shy."

He winches as he speaks but lifts his hand, and a tiny horse rests in his palm, made of raw wood, perfectly proportioned down to the little indent right above the hoof. He'd told me once that he could carve another to replace the one he lost as a child, but he saw no need. But I had no idea he could carve so finely.

"Ahren," I breathe, and I'm not even trying to put on the reaction. Then smile as I take it, noticing the tiny flat blademarks that make up the curved body. "It's like the one you lost?"

"Smaller," he says. "We couldn't spare the wood, but...it is close."

I peek at him, and he smiles, then shrugs. "I found a reason."

I almost go at him as he did me to throw myself in a crushing hug, but I remember his back in time and make do with a smile. "Thank you."

I won't think about what went through his mind before choosing to separate the bit of wood from the logs going into the fire. My rolls may not help much more than this little piece of wood would have heated their home, but tiny things are sometimes the most significant sacrifices.

I put the basket between us, then fish out both shirts.

"I mended it, and we had an extra."

He takes both, frowning at his, then the newer one. "It's your father's? Won't he be angry?"

I shake my head. "It was too small for him anyway. I'm sure he'd have brought it himself if he were here."

The answer suits him, or perhaps he doesn't allow himself to think too hard about it because he knows as well as I do, there is no hope for the other. He works his arms behind him to let his coat drop onto the floor. "I keep it for the town," he explains.

It makes sense, but I'm still disappointed that he chooses his original. Then shocked because once the coat drops, I've got a full view of a boy's chest. I drop my eyes back to the horse to inspect it, but I don't see any of it because my mind is just now registering that I can see most of Ahren's bones.

He's quick, maybe too quick if he loosens the stitches. I suppose there's little room for modesty in the Hummel's cabin where the family practically lives on top of each other, but he notices my face and murmers, "Sorry."

Then leaves the shirt untucked and hanging. It looks awful, but he looks like Ahren again; plain, tattered, and sturdy. Like a broom that people use, then tuck into the corner, forgotten until it's needed again.

I swallow, suddenly not wanting him to look for a job. No one knows him well enough to know that he is honest and caring. That he's only small and weak because he's half-starved; that he has the patience to make hundreds of tiny cuts to find a horse hidden in a block of wood.

They're only going to see that stammering Hummel boy-the one they can work like a dog, then throw him a bone. And he'll let them because he's the only buffer between his family and starvation.

He watches my face, then repeats a little more urgently. "I'm sorry."

His agitation brings me out of my thoughts. He thinks I'm upset because he changed in front of me. I close my eyes, shake my head, and hold out a hand to him. He eyes it but takes it, and his fingers are cold even through my glove. I hadn't thought that he came out without gloves, and I take his other hand, putting them together like a prayer before I rub them.

"You won't be able to carve such lovely things if you lose your fingers," I push for a tease.

He steps a little closer and again sets his forehead to mine.

I can't say I don't like it, because I very much do, but it doesn't feel like a scene from one of Joe's stories because I can't feel his hands through the gloves—and his forehead is too cold to be romantic. I still smile a little.

He doesn't. I can't see it, but I can feel the frown.

"You're very hot," he says.

"You're cold," I counter.

He pulls back slowly, looking at me, somber before he shakes his head. "No. You're hot."

"Ahren!"

Lotchen's voice is so shrill, so wild that I don't even realize it's her. It freezes me, but Ahren springs toward the door. A second scream shakes me loose. He left his coat.

I snatch it up, the quilt and thermos, then follow. The cabin is disorienting. The fire burns high, but there is a quivering bundle in the corner that I vaguely recognize as Mrs. Hummel, huddled and crying so deeply she almost sounds like a man. The baby is wailing, tucked in her arms. Lotchen's talking in German so fast that the sound hits my head like a barrage of pebbles, hovering near the bed where Ahren is holding Mary. Or Mary is clinging to him. It's hard to tell which, but she's tossing like she's trying to climb right into him to escape something. Then the floor dips, one staying flat and one swaying up at an angle. I steady myself against the wall.

Ahren's been shushing Mary, but he says something to Lotchen, and I see him jut his chin toward me.

She sucks in a sharp breath, then steps toward me, switching to English. "You've had scarlet fever already, haven't you?"

Scarlet fever? I stare toward her, then glance toward Ahren. Jo and Meg had it, but I was so little that all I remember was Jo complaining that she had to stay in bed.

"I...yes," I say. "Years ago."

I see Ahren's shoulders relax for only a split second before Mary starts screaming again, watching something at the top of the ceiling, but there is nothing there.

"Her fever's too high," Lotchen says. "She wants Ahren only."

"What does she think is there?"

"A poltergeist."

"A what?"

"A ghost..."

The baby lets up a fresh wail, disturbed by Mrs. Hummel's tears, and Lotchen rubs her face." I can't... I can't do three. I can't."

"Did the doctor come?" I ask.

They both wince, but she shakes her head.

Ahren strokes Mary's hair, murmuring to get her calmed down.

"I'll take him for a while," I say. "See if you can get your mother to sleep for a bit."

We both approach the woman. I pry the baby from her arms, and Lotchen props her shoulders, but Mrs. Hummel is so tired, she puts up no fight at all.

Lotchen goes with her to the little room in the back, and I suppose she falls asleep too because she doesn't return. Ahren's propped himself on the headboard, cradling Mary against his chest, but he's got her calm, murmuring a story in German.

I can't understand a word he is saying, but we exchange quick smiles as I sit in the little chair between the bed and the fireplace. I've heard Laurie speaking Italian, and it sounds almost musical. German sounds like water crashing into rocks at the shallow part of a creek, full of impossible sounds that shouldn't flow but somehow do. I'm so used to Ahren's simple sentences that I've assumed his thoughts are simple too, but now I wonder how many ideas stay buried under his limited English vocabulary.

The baby's cry is weak, and I rub his arm to calm him down, frowning because his skin feels like sandpaper. The wind whistles through the window, rattling the tray. Mary picks at Ahren's shirt, listening with glazed eyes. I rest my head against the wall feeling too close to the fire on one side and too cold on the other.

The snow swirls into the room when Anna hurries in, carrying one of the children. She's fourteen, but the size of a twelve-year-old and whoever she's got bundled up almost covers her.

"It's Alrick," she says.

Ahren shifts Mary and swings his legs over the bed, but Anna hauls the young boy over, spewing out words in German.

"What is it?" I ask.

Ahren whimpers as he lays the child down. "Alrick woke with a hurt throat. He's hot, so they sent him back so as not to hurt the others."

Anna rubs her face, and Ahren grabs her arm, turning it until she cries out with pain, and he lets go. "Your arm's red."

"It's a rash from the lye," she shakes her head.

"No, it's not. You're sick too."

"Anna?" Lotchen steps back into the room as Ahren is snapping his reply, and then the room is filled with German words. I can't tell if they're angry or scared or just speaking a language that sounds harsh to me.

When the door opens again, we all swing alarmed eyes, expecting another Hummel child to be carried through the door. But it's a man so large that he has to stoop a little to get through the door. He's followed by a handsome but young man I don't recognize and the intrusion does little to calm my heart.

The man surveys all of us, then asks, "Where's your mother?"

"She's sleeping," Lotchen answers while Ahren turns his face to the side. She eyes the man behind warily. "Who is this?"

"It's the doctor," Mr. Hummel says. "I told you I'd bring one. Would have brought him yesterday had Ahren not interfered."

"How many are sick?" the doctor asks.

"Three," Lotty answers, then amends, "Four."

"Vater," Mary struggles onto her forearms, then wails and reaches for the man.

"Mary…" Mr. Hummel moves toward the bed on the other side of the girl, pulling her from Ahren's grasp. "I brought you a doctor to make you feel better. Vater said he would, ja?"

Lotchen continues to stare at the young man. "You're a doctor?"

"Apprentice," he says, smiling even though she's watching him with open distrust. He continues toward Mary, "Let's see what's troubling you."

Ahren holds his breath, moving carefully like he's afraid the doctor might see right through his shirt and know that he is hurt. Mr. Hummel clears the way, standing on one side of me, and I lean a little closer to Ahren.

"We think it's scarlet fever," Anna says. "The baby got it first, then Mary, and now Alrick woke and said his throat hurt. He hasn't drunk anything all morning."

"Anna's got it too," Lotchen says.

The doctor looks up quickly, "You're Anna?"

Anna nods. "But I'm not very ill."

"You will be," the doctor says. "It always hits harder when you're older." She swallows, but he looks toward Ahren and me. "Have the others had it?"

"Ja," Ahren says, but he shifts as he glances toward me.

I swallow, but the baby starts up a cry, and his body shudders.

I wrap him tighter, wondering what he's staring at, but before I have a chance to look up, the light begins draining out of his eyes like water, and after the light, the shine that covers his pupils. Then they're dull—dull and frozen like my porcelain doll, even when I shift the bundle.

"Ahren," I whisper.

The baby doesn't move.

"Baby…baby, breathe..."

I'm barely breathing myself, barely speaking the words. But the air feels different, an empty void in the room, and the doctor pries the baby out of my arms, carrying it toward the bed.

I sway back and feel Ahren's hands grab my waist.

"Baby!" Lotchen wails.

Mr. Hummel steps toward us, whispering to Ahren. "Take her home. Use the horse."

Ahren gives a short nod, then touches my hand, and I follow him numbly out. "Is he dead?"

He keeps walking while I sputter, "Ahren, he's dead."

"He's not the first," he answers grimly.

I pant as he leads me toward a thin brown horse.

"I don't know how to ride," I stammer.

"It's too far to walk, and I think you are sick," he says as that settles it.

It's a man's saddle, and Mr. Hummel hasn't even bothered to take it off. Ahren glances toward the doctor's mare like he knows he was meant to be sent out to care for them properly, but he puts his hands on my waist to lift me onto the other.

Jo's voice tells me not to be girlish, and I shake myself out of the fog just in time to spare his back and grab the saddle and try to get my foot into the stirrup. The horse moves as I do, but Ahren steadies me, and I manage to get my other leg over the saddle, sitting astride like a boy with my bloomers shielding me from the leather and skirt and cloak piled high. I'm not sure there's any room left for Ahren, but I move my foot out of the stirrup, and he steps into it, using his leg to carry most of his weight and settling on the horse's haunches just behind the saddle.

"Won't you fall off?" I ask.

"He's used to us," Ahren says.

He reaches around me for the reins, taking both in his right hand and wrapping his left arm around my waist. "You won't fall."

Snow hits my face and melts as he urges the horse forward. Jo would be jealous I'm getting to ride. Amy would swoon that I'm riding with a boy. Meg and Marmee...well, I don't want to think about what they would think. But after less than two minutes, I can't think very well at all except to hold the horse's mane in the vain hope that if Ahren does let us fall, I can hold myself up. If it wasn't for the boning in my corset, I feel like I would collapse completely.

My mind bounces disjointedly from the baby's pale face to what the doctor said about Anna to worrying what the horse's rapid pace might be doing to the stitches in Ahren's back.

He says nothing, but I hear his breath rasp on the way in and shake on the way out.

If Mr. Hummel hurts him again...

You'll what? my head asks. Send Laurie over to thrash him? I can't stop Mr. Hummel from hurting Ahren any more than I can keep the fever from killing the children. But Mr. Hummel didn't seem angry. Perhaps with the children so sick, nothing more will come of the incident at the tavern.

"Beth!"

The snow is falling more thickly, so it's hard to see Laurie's face as he peers out of the carriage that passes us then pulls to a stop. Ahren turns the horse around, and it prances as he nears the window.

"Who is this?" Laurie grins but only for a moment.

"She's got scarlet fever," Ahren says.

"What?" Laurie shoves the door open.

"No. I'm not sick," I chatter. "I'm only cold."

Ahren chokes behind me, fully trembling before he lets go of my waist, and then I'm swept into Laurie's arms, tucked into the carriage, and he shouts, "To the March house!"

I barely glimpse Ahren as the carriage circles around, and Laurie wraps me in a fur, cradling me, and he feels massive compared to Ahren. And warm. I sink against him in relief to not need to hold myself up or balance on the horse anymore.

"He's right, Beth," Laurie says. "You're burning up."

I'm not. I'm shaking from the cold.

"The baby died," I choke.

"What?"

"It died in my arms..."

"Oh, Beth," Laurie lets out a breath and whispers, "You shouldn't have been over there."

"Marmee made me promise to look after them."

"Not while they're sick!"

I cry harder, and Laurie takes a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I don't think your mother realized..."

"Alrick's sick too. And Mary and Anna. The doctor said she'd be worse because she's older." I pull away from him..." Wait. Wait, have you had it?"

"Yes."

"Amy hasn't. You can't take me home. She hasn't had it..."

"Shhh," He pulls me against him again, and it doesn't seem quite proper, but I feel too shaken to sit up again. "We'll keep Amy away. She won't get sick."

But I am, and I'm older than Anna. If I become very ill, who will take care of the Hummels? Who will bury the baby?

The memory brings a fresh round of tears, and I give up being brave and cry into Laurie's coat until the carriage slows. Laurie doesn't even wait for it to stop, and I feel an odd sort of swing as he carries me, steps down, and leaves the carriage all at the same time.

Then Meg is throwing open the door, and Laurie tells her to get Amy right away, and Jo's repeating "scarlet fever?"

Laurie carries me to my room, and Hannah shoos him away. Amy shrieks from somewhere far away as Jo pulls my stays loose, and I cling to the bed frame as the corset falls, leaving me without its support.

"But I can't go to Aunt March's!" Amy wails.

"Scarlet fever is no joke, miss," Laurie says.

"It isn't Ahren's fault," I sputter to Jo. "I told him...I thought I'd already had it..."

"Who's Ahren? Oh, Bethy," Jo moans. "I should have gone with you."

"You have to tell Laurie, Jo." I grasp her sleeve to make her listen. "He can't be mad... at Ahren. He always...gets... blamed. If Laurie..."

"Sweet Beth, Laurie's not going to do anything to anybody..."

"But Mr. Hummel..."

Mr. Hummel will be fine," Jo says. "They'll all be fine."

"They're not fine, Jo. The baby's dead." I shudder, but Jo's too busy pulling the covers back to understand.

"Now into bed with you, Miss March," Hannah says. "And no more worrying about the Hummels. For once, you've got to be thinking of yourself."

"But he looked like a doll," I say. "A little porcelain doll...and it was horrid."