Disclaimer (I remembered this time) – Standard one, I don't own Little Women or the characters, obviously – if I did, Jo's most grievous mistake would not have happened (sorry, couldn't help that). I am merely adoringly writing in her lovely world.
Author's Note :
--- Story Premise : This is a sort of experiment that I'm doing, so let me know how you like it, eh? Each chapter will be one day, or a snippet(s) from a day, and it will somehow revolve around a letter of some sort, written either by Jo to Laurie, or Laurie to Jo. This first chapter is set immediately after Laurie is allowed access and membership to the March sisters' Pickwick Club. I'm really using the book as my guide, but even if you've only seen the films I shall try my hardest to fit in as many details as I can so that you will feel at ease in the details either way.
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-------------------------------------May 21st, Late Morning--------------------------------------------------
The cheery sun filtered in peeps and flourishes through the blossoming cherry trees, signaling the beginning of a new day. Theodore Laurence popped one eye open slowly before snapping it shut, only to repeat the routine with his other orb. Closing his lids tightly again, he groaned, wishing to prolong his rising for as long as he could when a happy thought floated back to him, eliciting a lazy grin. He was initiated.
He rose jubilantly as details of the preceding evening danced before him. He remembered a rather animated talk with Jo earlier that morning, which was usual, and she was regaling him with humourous antidotes about The P. C., or Pickwick Club, a weekly newspaper society that the March sisters had recently begun. She was telling him that she had just finished writing her ode for this week's installment when suddenly her brows shot up in the air, she muttered 'Christopher Columbus!', and she remarked gaily that he would make a perfect addition to their beloved Saturday night ritual.
After much giggling and a few moments of scheming, they had determined the time and place of the unveiling of the perspective party; the closet was to be the cloak that would hide the aspiring member until the opportune time.
Laurie finished his dressing with rapid speed, not able to suppress the chuckle that escaped from his lips as he recalled the utter look of shock on the three girls' faces after Jo eagerly tapped on the door before flinging it open to reveal him sitting on that little rag bag, mischievous smile beaming out at them. He was relieved when they readily accepted him, through a bit of Jo's coaxing, and was keen to contribute anything as soon as possible. Mr. Pickwick (Meg), Mr. Tupman (Beth), and Mr. Winkle (Amy) were very gracious in their welcoming; Mr. Snodgrass (Jo) being the most enthusiastic of all, clashing the lid of the warming pan repeatedly in her fervor of having a real, bonafide boy among them.
The sophisticated young man looked anything but as he tumbled down the stairs in a hurry, much to his grandfather's chagrin, and bolted out of the front door. He was anxious to check the newly affixed little post office box that he had presented as a gift and, as he put it, "a means of promoting friendly relations between adjoining nations". With hands agog, he opened the box's roof and he was not to be disappointed – for there, sitting perfectly still, lay a thin envelope with his newly dubbed member name, 'Mr. S. Weller', scrawled on the front in large curly lettering. He closed the lid, slipped the letter out and read with a satisfied smile on his face:
Dear Mr. S. Weller,
I am writing on behalf of the entire Pickwick Club. The gentlemen of the "P.C." wish to formally extend deep gratitudes of thanks to you for your most worthy proposition and execution of our new post office in the hedge. It undoubtedly will be the source of many happy tidings and pleasant surprises in the future. Our heartiest congratulations at your admittance into our esteemed society.
Yours respectfully,
Mr. A. Snodgrass
Laurie stuffed the paper back into it's sheath and placed it in his waistcoat pocket merrily. He was pleased at the hearty reception of his P.O. idea, and he knew that Jo, er, Mr. Snodgrass was correct about it being the new source of future surprises.
--------------------------------------May 21st, Afternoon-----------------------------------------------------------
Jo was wearing her apron dutifully, kneading the dough as Hannah supervised intermittently, in between running to and fro to accomplish her work. Meg tisked at her lack of form, saying that she was rolling when she should be spreading and spreading when she should be rolling; Amy was seated at the table with flying fingers issuing forth a new sketch, ignoring the others in the process; and Beth stood near by serenely, offering encouraging glances here and there.
Jo sighed, grumbling about not seeing the point in trying to teach her how to cook; 'After all, you can't teach a peacock how to strut – and so, you can't teach Jo March how to be a chef' she muttered, sending the girls into stitches of laughter, each remembering with vivid clarity various cooking mishaps of one Josephine March.
Meg finally sighed, stepping next to Jo. "Look, you've got it all wrong. You should use your knuckles more when you pound it, otherwise it won't rise properly later. Like this..."
Jo gladly took a few steps out, relinquishing the task to her sister. She stood watching for a few moments before her gaze inevitably fell on the window. She couldn't help it, she was always itching to be out in the great big wide open, free to roam and muck about at her desire instead of being stuck poking around inside with menial 'woman's work'.
She looked back at her siblings, and seeing them engrossed in their job, a wicked glint twinkled in her eye. She walked backward, ever so slowly so as not to attract their attention, and soon enough she found herself out of the back door and a few paces away from the garden. She tromped across to the corner, where the glorious new Pickwick Post Office stood, beckoning her to visit.
She of course complied, and was glad she did when she found a fancy envelop attached to a bulky bundle smiling up at her. Opening the paper, she noticed that the big writing was written with a decided air and she felt the corner of her lips tug upward as she scanned the lines:
My dear Mr. A. Snodgrass,
I would first like to take it upon myself to thank you for your consideration and later acceptance into your literary society. I am most gratified that you and your constituency think me worthy to join your ranks, and as such I am most determined to prove myself an equal member, and show your faith in me well served.
Furthermore, it was quite a delight, my dear fellow, to find your letter of warmest regards waiting for me with the morning post. Please allow me to enclose a small token of my desire in seeing the most revered Pickwick Club flourish and prosper for some time to come.
Humbly your servant,
Mr. S. Weller
With curious fingers she uncurled the soft material open and gasped in felicity at the sight that met her. It was a lovely writing set, consisting of four brand new and quite fashionable dip pens, six small ink bottles of varying colour, and a small stack of different shades of paper tied with a red ribbon. She clutched them to her chest happily, imaging how much they would add to the aesthetic aspect of The Pickwick Portfolio! Jo rushed back indoors, bursting with the excitement.
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That was the first chapter, I know where I want to go with this, I was just in a bit of fix with this first establishing opener; hopefully, you guys like it and would like to read more!
– Any reviews would be much appreciated!