The Ebony Cross
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Little Women
Copyright: Public domain
/
"Here's a landscape," said Laurie, smiling as he leaned in the doorframe.
He didn't know what he had expected when Esther had told him Mademoiselle was "in the chapel", since as far as he knew, Aunt March's mansion did not contain such a room. He had thought perhaps Amy was playing a game by herself somewhere, like she did when dressing up in her aunt's old clothes. The little room to which the maid had led him, however, certainly looked like a chapel, with its single chair, a cushion for kneeling, a Bible, a Madonna and Child painting on the wall, and a rosary hanging off the edge of the painting's frame.
"Laurie!" Amy closed the Bible and jumped up from the chair, smiling from ear to ear as usual, but the smile faltered as she saw that he was taking in their surroundings. "I … you're early. I didn't expect … "
"Am I interrupting something? I can wait."
"Oh, no!" She smoothed her skirt and shook back her curls. "I'm ready to go, only … Please don't tell Jo about this place, will you? She'll laugh at me."
"Not a word, upon my honour. But why would she?"
Amy ran her finger along the glossy black rosary beads. "She'd think I'm only pretending, but I'm not. It was Esther's idea. She said it might do me good to find a quiet place and … and pray for Papa and Beth."
Laurie didn't need to hear that to know she was sincere. That much was obvious. Her voice was quiet, her movements simple, and she wasn't even trying to use unfamiliar words. He missed her bravado a little, but he wished her sisters could see her in moments like this. They - Jo, at least - seemed to consider her the shallow one in the family, but her love and faith were just as deep as theirs. He wished with all his heart that he could tell her not to worry, but he knew all too well how valid her worries were.
"I think it's a first-rate idea," he said instead, clearing his throat as he imagined how many prayers must have gone up already from this little chapel. "You should have a place like this at home, and never mind what Jo says."
"Do you think it would be proper, though? For a Protestant minister's house, I mean?"
They both looked up at the painting, which looked as Catholic as the rosary. The Virgin Mary had blonde hair and wore a blue cloak with gold embroidery. The lively, bright-eyed Christ child looked as if He might squirm out of her lap at any moment if she wasn't holding Him so carefully. Her loving face reminded Laurie of Mrs. March, and the longer he looked, the more he could almost picture the face of the mother he had lost when he was small. For a moment he smelled incense, heard the echo of Latin prayers and Italian lullabies, and saw brown eyes smiling at him just like the blue ones in the painting.
"I was raised Catholic, you know, before Grandpa brought me to live with him. I don't believe God would be fussy about what rituals we use."
"Really?" Amy brightened. "I've always thought so, but our churches are so dull. I've never understood why we shouldn't worship just as well in a pretty place as in a plain one."
"Exactly." Laurie tipped an imaginary hat to her. "My coach is parked outside. I thought we'd go for a drive today. Shall we?"
He held out his arm. Amy tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and beamed.
As they left the room, the ebony beads and silver cross hanging from the painting shimmered in the light. There was an understated beauty to them that only caught the eye at second glance.
It was only November, but he already had an idea of what to give the youngest March sister for Christmas.
/
Five years later …
"You kept this?" asked Laurie softly. "All this time?"
He touched the ebony cross on its silver chain with one fingertip where it lay in the hollow of Amy's throat. They were out in the château garden in Vevay beneath the chestnut trees, autumn leaves sprinkling the path like bits of gold leaf under their feet. The sun was setting over the garden wall, the air just cool and crisp enough that she could lean into him on the bench they shared.
"Of course." Her blush went all the way from her cheeks to the neckline of her black dress. "It was the first gift you ever gave me."
"It reminded me of you when I saw it in the shop. That little chapel you set up at your aunt's house … "
"You remember that?" Amy hid her face briefly with her hands, but when she removed them, a bittersweet smile was on her face. "How young and silly I was, to be sure … but you have no idea how much your kindness meant to me. I was so lonely."
Her voice quivered a little, and he wondered whether it was past or present loneliness she meant; probably both. This was the second time her family had kept her away when Beth was sick - for her own good, but still. She had missed the chance to spend time with Beth in her final months, to work together with the others for her comfort, even to say goodbye. It had all happened without her, while she was on the other side of the ocean.
"Not anymore," said Laurie, putting his arm around her. "Not if I can help it."
She leaned her golden head on his shoulder, and he remembered the haloed Madonna in the painting. Had Mary known when she wrapped her baby in swaddling clothes that she would have to wrap Him in a shroud only thirty years later? And yet the love that family shared was immortal. Birth, death, rebirth, the calendar cycled through it every year. You couldn't have one without the rest.
Whatever the years might bring, he knew beyond a doubt that he wanted to spend them with Amy by his side.