Gifts
I frown as my knitting needle tangles the loops again. These mittens are going to look as terrible as the slippers I made for Mr. Laurence. I eye the pair dubiously, wondering if they are terrible all around, or simply understated next to the pair that Amy created for Laurie. His are dark blue, shiny from the lining of one of Father's old coats and edged with tiny decorative stitches. Next to them are mine. Green felt that I thought would keep his feet warm in the mornings, but I didn't know the size of his foot, so I added laces just in case he needed to tighten them. Without feet inside them, they've deflated on the table into something that resembles a fat frog. I chew my lip but refrain from asking Meg and Jo if they think the pair worthy as a gift because Jo is reading a newspaper story using different voices to dramatize the events.
"'Come away with me, fair Clarrissa. Let not your feelings be denied,' said Raphael.
"'I must deny both my feelings and you,' Clarrissa replied, 'for I am engaged to the count. If I do not marry him, my poor family will come to ruin.'"
I let out a slow breath as I pull the string, effectively undoing the last line of loops. My family would never force me to choose between them and a man I loved - I'm lucky for that - but my heart still pangs, wondering who I would choose. I think I could do nearly anything if it depended on me to keep my family from ruin - but then I realize how foolish I'm being, imagining that I'd be brave enough even to try. Perhaps I could work up to trying something to help my family, but I doubt I'd be able to talk to a count, much less marry him.
Jo continues to call, holding her writing cap against her head. "'Make your choice!' cried the count, brandishing his sword. 'You must remain loyal to me if you choose to be my wife.' And your family will pay, said his eyes."
My frown for poor Clarrissa turns into a smile as the thread slides onto the second needle, adding another chain or warmth to the top of the glove. I imagine continuing the circle higher and higher until it reaches Ahren's elbow and keeps his arm warm as well. Then flicker my eyes toward Jo as she pauses for dramatic effect.
My smile only grows to find her wrapped in her story, reaching through the air as though she were Clarrissa. She's so engrossed in her reenacting that she's the only one who doesn't see Laurie sneaking through the parlor door, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, mocking both men waiting for Clarrissa to make her choice.
"'You,'" Jo says, though she lowers the paper, speaking so assuredly that I wonder if she decided to put a happier ending on the original story. Laurie steps closer, taking a larger step across the creaking floorboard onto the carpet as Jo quotes. "'I choose Raphael. He is my sun, and together, we will fight you. You will not conquer my family or take our lands.'
'The count screamed in rage.'"
"Ahhh!" Laurie screeched, as Jo backed up, stepping on his foot.
Jo stumbled, and one of Laurie's legs go to the left, trying to get out of her way before he steps back to the right to catch her. His boot twists and they both fall straight over sideways. It isn't funny, but Jo's skirt fans out, her hoop rides the floor, hitting Laurie's nose and then he's entirely covered by the gown, except for a tuft of black hair at one side of the hem and his polished boots sticking from beneath the others. "Jo!" Meg throws her sewing basket aside and tugs on Jo's hands, attempting to haul her to her feet. Laurie's laughing is muffled by several layers of Jo's petticoats.
"Meg, don't pull me, I can't..." Jo yanks against Meg's hands, trying to gain her balance and only stepping on one of Laurie's ankles. "Blast these skirts!"
"You maimed me!" Laurie, finally freed from his prison, pushes the layers as the hoop lifts them neatly off him. "Lord, that gown is heavy. How do you wear them?"
"Not very well apparently," Jo laughs.
"Jo," Meg puts her fingers to her forehead and Jo flaps a hand out her. "For heaven's sake, Meg, he's already seen me in nothing but bloomers."
"They were very nice bloomers," Laurie says.
Jo laughs, and Meg crumples into the chair, burying her face into her arms.
"And I cannot believe," Laurie continued, sitting up and smoothing his hair back into place, "that you made your author debut without me!"
"Laurie!" Jo exclaimed. "I haven't told them yet! How did you guess?"
Laurie snatches the paper, flipping it exaggeratedly to read, "By Mr. Joseph March." He raises unimpressed eyes. "Now, I'm no genius, I admit, but..."
"Oh, Jo! That's your story!" Amy exclaims. She runs to Laurie, tugging on his arm to peer at the words. "It's beautiful."
Jo folds her hands in front, shrugging like it's nothing, but she beams. "I didn't think they'd actually print it," she says, "but I thought I'd give it a try."
I wait until Amy's examined the print and Meg has verified the name at the bottom before I get my turn. I should have listened a little more attentively.
"They didn't pay much," Jo says in a tone of apology. "Hardly anything, really, but it's a start, and they may want to see more."
"Oh, the money doesn't matter," I say, feeling her own pride swell inside my chest. "You're in print, Jo!"
"Oh Laurie!" Amy cries as though she just remembers. She runs to the table where the two pairs of slippers wait for wrapping. "I made you these!" She snags both pairs, focused on a final inspection as she crosses the room.
I wince as Laurie's lips rise, then tuck dutifully away as Amy offers the blue pair with an unusual sobriety. "They're for you."
"They're splendid!" Laurie takes them, exchanging the quickest of grins at Jo behind Amy. Then he turns all his attention to the features Amy points out, with all the respect and awe he would show while being shown a fine painting. When Amy finishes her own, I wish she could make my pair appear half as good, but they dangle limply as she holds them up.
"And Beth made these for your grandfather!"
"But I'm not sure I'll send them yet," I answer, feeling my face flush and suddenly doubting the entire idea. "Those were practice, of sorts."
"Nonsense," Laurie says. "They're perfect."
"But they're so plain," I sputter. "And I know your grandfather is used to fine things!"
"I know what we can do!" Amy shoves both pairs of slippers entirely into Laurie's care, then darts up the stairs. We hear her feet thud on the ceiling as she crosses her bedroom just above us, and the chest lid is thrown back.
"Well," Laurie says. "I wondered what you girls did here all day. Now I know. You're busy writing publications, creating fine clothing and making beautiful music." Here he eyes me, instead of my poor piano, whose tired strings aren't beautiful at all. "I really must know. What's Meg's hidden talent?"
"I'm too busy making ends meet to have one," Meg answers.
"Herding rascals," Jo answers. "First, the Moffett children and then poor Meg comes home to us."
"Well, perhaps I'll bring Mr. Brooke along with me," Laurie's eyes sparkle as Jo glares. "And you can herd him too."
"That would be counter effective," Meg answers, moving her needle a little faster. "Because then he'd be obligated to herd you, and I dare say you could make up the balance of my four sisters and the Moffet children on your own."
"I've got it!" Amy cries. She takes the stairs in beats of two, waving two green hair ribbons behind her. "Here, Beth. You may lace it with these, and that will add the perfect touch of elegance."
"But you won't get them back if you put them on the slippers," I warn. Amy, however, doesn't seem distressed over the loss. She takes out the black laces I'd found and replaces them with the ribbon, tying perfect and tiny bows.
"Oh, how cunningly perfect!" She cries.
I stifle a laugh and hug her. "Thank you. They do look better."
Laurie snatches them up before I can decide whether or not the added touch looks too womanly.
"I'll take them over right away," he says. "Unless you'd like to give them yourself."
"Oh no," I reply quickly.
"Well, I'll tell you what we'll do," Laurie says. He sets his hand on my shoulder and steers me toward the window, pointing across our garden to the panes of his house. "Grandfather always takes afternoon tea in his large chair there. You can watch from here."
I shouldn't watch. It's rude to spy, but I do anyway as Laurie tramps across the yard, waving before he disappears from the front step. Amy plops beside me, and Jo steadies her hands on both sides of the windowsill near my arms. Even Meg rests one knee on the window box to watch.
I can't see Laurie's face; only his long legs and arms before the wall hides his head. But Mr. Laurence's face is clear, the surprised lift of his eyebrows before they quickly lower. My slippers slide into his hands, eliciting a smile that turns into a laugh. I wince, but the smile lingers as he turns the slippers over in his hands, exploring the gift with the most pleased expression. Then he glances toward my window.
We all duck.
