Chapter Five

Meg sits in the chair, moaning over the ache and fretting because she is supposed to resume tutoring the Moffet children. Jo tells her that she may as well enjoy it, because Meg can stay home and read Ivanhoe while she and Amy must brave to cold to go to school and work.

Amy's in a terrible mood saying that her teachers were strict and it's drizzling miserably outside. I try to keep everyone cheerful and help as best as I can, but before the morning is over, my head aches so terribly that I have to lay down on the couch. I don't lay for long, however, for my kitten jumps for the tenth time onto Meg and she screams for me to get them before she drowns them. I jump to my feet and gather them up, as Marmee begs us to be quiet so she could finish writing her letter to Father.

Jo kisses Marmee on the head. "We're regular little monsters now, but we'll come back as saints. Come on, Amy! Get over your headache, Beth."

And with that she is gone, dragging Amy behind her. Meg closes her eyes and I can't help feeling sorry for her, for I know most of her temper comes from her injured ankle. I fetch her a warm cloth to wrap around her foot and help Hannah straighten up the kitchen. I don't let myself think about Ahren, except when I write a letter to Father, telling him about visiting the Hummels, and how sweet the children are, and how much I love holding the baby. I tell him about bringing the dolls to the girls and how excited Mary was about the doll.

Toward the afternoon it had clears up outside, and Hannah sends me to the town to gather some supplies from the store. I enjoy the short walks and she did not like to go outside in the snow. The snow is slush, water, dirt and ice all mixed in and it soon soaks through my shoes.

I think about Amy at school and hope that she does not have to go all day with her stockings wet. Before Father left, he taught me at home by myself, and now I try to continue on without his guidance.

I clutch my cloak tighter to my chest and hurry into the store. The bell on the door jingles as I step inside and kick the snow off of my boots.

"Why good morning, Miss Beth."

"Good morning," I smile back. Mr. Mordaunt was Father's close friend and I have known him for as long as I can remember. He used to give us peppermint sticks when we were little. He turns back to his costumer, and I slip between the shelves, picking up some more yarn for the knitting and eyeing the music sheets. There are new songs. I pick one up and read the staff, trying to memorize the notes so I can play a piece of it when I get home to see what it sounds like.

The door opens, but I do not pay very much attention until I hear Mr. Laruence's voice and nearly drop everything I hold in my hands. I back up between the bolts of cloth and the sugar bags, peeking out.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurence."

Mr. Mordaunt seems flustered. Mr. Laurence is most likely the wealthiest man that ventures into his store.

"Good morning." Mr. Laurence replies. He surveys the shelf and I duck, crouching on the floor in a way that would make Amy gasp, but I don't know what to do.

The bell on the door tinkles, but my eyes stay glued to the spot Mr. Laurence would step if he started coming toward me and straining my mind for what to do if he came. If only Jo were here.

"Gut morgen." The voice belongs to Mrs. Hummel.

"Morning Ma'am. Can I help you find something?"

The Hummel's must not come in very often if he doesn't know who she is.

"I . . ." Mrs. Hummel's voice is soft, despite her rough accent. "I am looking for work. I will work hard."

"I . . ." Mr. Mordaunt hesitates. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but I don't need any more help at the moment. Did you try at the seamstress's?"

"I work there too, taking in laundry and sewing, but I have ten children to care for, and there is not enough to do."

"Where is your husband?"

"He is working in the logging camps, sir." Her voice quivers. "I will do anything. I must feed my poor children."

"I wish that I could help you, Mrs…?" Mr. Mordaunt's voice is apologetic and poor Mrs. Hummel's shoulders slumps.

As she thanks him and turns toward the door, Mr. Laurence raises his cane and hooks one of the fish that hangs from the ceiling. "There, Ma'am. Take that home tonight to your children."

Mrs. Hummel clasps the fish to her chest as though it was Susan in my own arms. She laughs and cries at the same time, switching to German without seeming to realize it as she chats toward Mrs. Laurence.

My heart pounds. Mr. Laurence? Mr. Laurence whom we can hear yelling from our yard. Oh but, the look on Mrs. Hummel's face. And Ahren will eat tonight, at least if there's enough in that fish to feed everyone.

Mrs. Hummel hurries home to cook her fish for her children, and I stay crouched and confused until Mr. Laurence makes his own purchases and leaves the store.

Mr. Mordaunt leans forward over his counter. "You can come out now, Mrs. Bethy. Everyone is gone."

I blush, but there's no alternative. I'm sure I must be crimson as I creep out. I tremble so badly that Mr. Mordaunt helps me fill the basket.

But my heart begins to warm toward the old gentleman until I am chatting to Mr. Morduant, telling him about Mrs. Hummel and her children. He listens with interest and asks a few questions before saying he'd see what he can do to help the family.

I nearly skip on the way home, and I would if the road wasn't so slippery. Hannah's fuming, worried something happened to me. She only half-listens as I prattle about Mr. Laurence's kindness, and how the Hummels will have supper tonight, and that Mr. Mordaunt might help them somehow, and that I am so glad.

Meg teases that I had better stop for breath, before she smiles. "Well, I suppose that there is good in everyone, ever Mr. Laurence. We'll have to remember that in the future."

I chew my lip, still smiling as I kick by feet back and forth. "I'm just – so happy, Meg. We aren't really so poor after all. We have everything that we need and more."

"You're right. We do, Beth."

"I want to do something for Mr. Laurence, Meg," I say. "He's been so kind to us and now the Hummels. He must not be anything like I thought."

"Well, you know, Beth," Meg said casually. "We're all invited to their house whenever we like. Laurie mentioned you specifically, saying that you could play their piano."

I swallow. The piano? The grand piano that Laurie played? Oh, I ache to touch that piano but…

"I don't know, Meg. He may be a dear, sweet man, but I still don't know what I would do if I had to speak to him. And they would hear."

"Let them hear. You're playing is very good, Beth. Especially if you had a piano in tune with all of its keys. I think you would be surprised to hear how good you really are."

"I'll think about it." I say, though I know my mind has already been made up by my pounding heart.

Throughout the next week my thoughts fly back and forth between Mr. Laurence's beautiful piano and the Hummel family. I nearly drive myself to tears wondering if my dolls are still in once piece. When Ahren enters my thoughts, I try my hardest to push him away but he still comes back, and I feel quite guilty.

The day that Jo and Laurie slip away to ice skate, I finally have something else to think about. I suggest we go for a walk. She doesn't want to. I suggest we ask Hannah to help us bake something.

She tells me I am a little homemaker but she does not like droll things like that. Within five minutes of Jo's departure she snatches up her ice skates. "I don't care! I'm going anyway. They'll have to take me. Laurie won't leave me by myself, I know he won't."

"Jo won't like that." I warn softly, but the door cuts off my words.

I don't know what to do. I stand for several minutes, then decide that I better go. If Amy doesn't find them, I'll skate with her. I search for several minutes before I find my old skates from last year and desperately hope they still fit. I snatch up my cloak and set off down the path toward the stream.

I don't see Ahren until I round the bend and spy him in the woods. He looks like a startled deer, a load of twisted sticks in his arms.

"Ahren. What are you doing?"

"Getting wood." He says after a moment. "No one owns these woods, so I come here when we have none on our land." He glanced around. "There's – not much here either."

I glance over the woods. He's right, and he's quite a ways from his home.

"There's – there's more over there." I point toward the Laurence's land.

"That's – private land." He hesitates.

"That's Laurie's land. We know him. He won't mind. They're not using their sticks."

Still he hesitates. The sticks he's gathered won't last more than half an hour.

Amy will be fine. "Come on." I motion him. "I'll help you."

"Oh, you don't have to," he protests. "Girl's shouldn't have to – gather wood like this."

"Well, I'll keep you company," I continue. Perhaps because Ahren is even more shy than me, I feel – almost bold.

He falls into step beside me as we tramp through the heavy snow over toward the Laurence's land. When we pass our house, I run to fetch Jo's sled, telling him we can pile more wood onto it. He doesn't speak much at first. But I ask him how his sisters are, and if his mother has found work and soon we're chatting away. He tells me about Lotchen and Gretchen and everyone except for him.

"And…" he asks. "Your sisters? Tell me about them."

"Well, the oldest one is Meg."

"The pretty one?"

"Yes." I laugh, wondering if he thinks I'm pretty. "Meg works as a governess. She is very elegant and mature."

He smiles and I continue, "Jo is . . ."

"The bold one." He finished for me.

"Yes." I glance toward the trees. "I don't know how she is so brave. I don't really understand how any one is."

"Neither do I," he admits. "My Father is not afraid of anything. My Mother is afraid of everything. I'm- not afraid. But I never know what I should say."

"Neither do I." I giggle. "I was terrified when we first came to your house."

"I was terrified when you came to my house. I did not know anyone was there, and I kicked open the door. The wind slammed it, and then you were there on the floor and – I thought I had killed you."

I laugh. "No. I was only scared I would drop little Gretchen."

"Then your sister, Jo - she talked to me and . . ." He shrugs. "I did not know what to say. So I was rude and said nothing."

"You weren't rude," I reply. "You were half frozen. But I see you have a new jacket now."

"Yes." He nods. "From the grocer. He says it was extra. I don't really believe him though. I feel bad taking it."

"Well, he would not have given it to you if he didn't want to." I replied. "Some people are made happy when they are allowed to give."

"Like you?" He stole a glance toward me.

"Yes."

"My sisters play with the dolls – all the time. They take my blanket to put them to bed. Every night I have to unwrap so many dolls from my blanket."

I laugh - actually laugh loud, and he laughs too.

"They say that I am cruel." He shake his head. "But I don't want to share my blanket with dolls."

"I should have sent some doll blankets," I say. "I only have one doll left, and she has more than she knows what to do with."

"Then she know?" Ahren laughs. "How funny, you speak as though they are real."

"But they are!" I reply, before I think about it.

Ahren's eyebrow perks along with his mouth as he cocks his head sideways at me.

"I mean." I blush. "It seems like they are. I've had them ever since I was young. So they seem real. Didn't you ever have toys like that?"

Ahren laughs again, dumping a second load of wood on the wagon. "When I was little, I had a wooden horse. I played with it all of the time. But one winter – we were snowed in. We used all our wood. Then the kitchen chairs and table. Then Da said I must use my horse to keep the house warm. I thought it was real and I cried. Not much. Only a little. I wanted to cry more. But then I understood that it was a block of wood. Nothing more." He pushed the sticks down to make more room.

I had a terrible image of burning my dolls.

"I'm sorry, Ahren. That is sad."

"No." He shakes his head. "I can make another. I just don't see any reason to, anymore."

I kneel down and help him gather sticks. His new coat looks nice on him and his hair is flat, like he had tried to comb it with his fingers. His clothes are worn, but still neat. He's trying. His new coat makes his other clothes look even more ragged than before. I wonder what he would look like in nice clothes.

He stands back as I put my load onto the sled.

"I think I'll have to take it back now," he says. "If we put more on, they'll fall." He pulls it a foot and the pile begins to slump. I catch the bundle. "Here. I'll hold them on and you can pull."

"My house is a long way," he warns.

"I don't mind."

And I really don't. I'm not scared. Or shy. Or uncomfortable. I think that this must be how Jo feels with Laurie and it excites me.

A small smile flitters across his face and is gone. "I'll pull you on the way back if you want."

We start across the land, chatting as though we're brother and sister – at least how I always imagine a brother would be like. Ahren's breathing is a little harder when we reach his house, and I wonder about it because the sled was not heavy and I'm not winded. Then again. Who knows when the last time he's eaten is?

I don't ride on the way back, choosing to walk along side Ahren, dragging the empty sled. I'm telling him about our play, when a dog barks.

Aren's head snaps to the side. "Bet! Run!" He shuffles into a gait, dragging the sled behind him, and I grab the rope. In the corner of my eye I see a large, black dog, speeding down the hill.

The dog gains on us, barking ferociously, and Ahren drops the sled, grabbing my hand instead. I don't think that I can run any faster but he drags me along, vaulting over a stone fence and turning to help me clamber over it. The dog snaps at my heels, and Aren yanks me right over the wall, tumbling backward into the snow.

We land in two feet of snow gasping for breath, safely out of the reach of the dog.

"I hate that dog!" Ahren chokes, between breaths.

I can't breathe well enough to respond. My heart feels like it might fall out into the snow and continue pounding there.

I think we both realize that we are still holding hands at the same time, because my hand flies off as he jumps up.

"Are you hurt?" He asks.

"No." I hope he thinks my face was red from the running, but then again, his face is also red.

"Good." He reaches down to help me up, and I brush snow off of my skirt. "I think I have a knack for hurting you."

I can't help but grin. "A tumble over the wall is preferable to being eaten by a dog."

"I did not realize – how close we were." Ahren explains. "He chases me – all the time. But I never was with someone else. Some day, he'll catch me. I don't know what I'll do."

I don't like that idea at all. The dog is vicious. Not just the kind that bark to pretend to be mean.

"Why don't you go home another way?"

"I try. But he roams, so I never know where he will be next. I wish he had been kinder to you. I did not know anything could be mean to Bet . . . Beth . . ." He stumbled over the "th" in my name, and I laugh.

"You can call me Bet. I don't mind."

Ahren doesn't respond. He's squinting into the distance and when he speaks, the heavy German accent is back. "Bet? Is dat – your sister?"

I glance behind, taking a step to catch my balance.

It's Jo.

In bloomers.

"Jo?" I call out to her, but my voice squeaks.

Ahren's rosy color is not from the cold.

"I'd – I'd better go home," he says. "You can join your – sister and . . ."

We part ways, and I rush through the snow until my shoes are numb.

"Jo!" I call, but she is already gone. She must be running too. In her underclothes.

By the time I reach the house, I have no breath left and my nose is running terribly. I burst into the house and smack into Laurie.

"Laurie!"

Laurie grabs my shoulders to steady me. "She's fine," he says quickly. "Amy's fine."

"Amy?" I ask.

"She fell through the ice, but . . ."

I can't listen to the rest. Pulling away, I race upstairs. Amy's tucked in the bed, looking quite content, although a little frightened. Meg's face was quite stern.

Jo sits in a state of shock, still in her bloomers.

I rush to her. "What happened?"

Jo gives no response, and I grab her hands.

"Jo?"

"Amy fell through the ice," Meg explains. "Jo used her skirt for a blanket. Laurie pulled her out."

I pull Jo toward our room. "Jo, change into dry clothes. You'll get sick."

"I nearly killed her," Jo mumbles.

"She's all right," I answered.

I won't wonder what's going on in Ahren's head at this moment.

I coax Jo into some fresh clothes and within an hour after sitting with Amy, she starts to believe that she was all right. Amy takes advantage of the situation and keeps us trotting for tea and treats until Marmee tells her that it is enough.

We stay snuggled and cozy in Amy's room after Meg goes to Laurie's house to thank him again. With all the rush I forget about my own misadventure until I go to gather more wood for the fire and spy the sled near our house.

Ahren was terribly brave to go back for it, and I hope that the dog didn't chased him again. I wish that he had stopped by, but supposed he must have been scared off by a house full of women who ran the streets in their undergarments. It makes me blush all over again.

Jo doesn't blush though, when I tell her, as we snuggle in bed that night. At first I'm shy about talking about Ahren, but after I tell her of our chance meeting and the dog, she grins. Looking back at it, it is rather funny – except being chased. I don't tell her that he grabbed my hand or that we kept holding hands even after we stopped running. I do tell her of his face when he saw her racing through, and she laughs so heartily that I'm afraid Marmee will come running.

Suddenly the situation strikes me, and I start giggling too. "If we had been by a hill, we could have just gotten onto the sled and ridden down it."

She laughs harder. "I love you, Beth."

"I love you too, Jo." My smile fades.

There are more feelings that I can't put my finger on. The dog was frightening and I hope never to see it again but . . . I almost enjoyed the adventure with Ahren.

Maybe it's wicked to think about him so much.

If so, I must be more wicked than I thought, because all I can think about is how much I wish I could see him again. And how warm his hand were.

I blush and push my face into my pillow.

No. No I don't think that.

But . . . I had hardly noticed holding his hand. Because we were running? Or because it had felt – natural?

Whichever reason, I shouldn't see him again. It's not good for me.

But . . . I want to.

A little.