Fathers
"Daydreaming, I see." Laurie's voice holds a tinge of mischief to it as he lowers his face next to mine to peer into the shop window. "And what has so grabbed the attention of Miss. March? The bonnet, perhaps?"
I lift my eyes from the green material of the display to his reflection in the window. He looks a bit like a troll hunched over to put his face level with mine. I finger my cheek, embarrassed to be caught coveting - especially by someone who could afford the entire window. "No, I was just looking."
I step away to follow Jo into the store, but Laurie catches my hand and steers me back to the display.
"Now, now. It's just a game," Laurie says. "What would you get from the entire window?"
I look from the bonnet to the gloves, to the hatbox, to the silver tea service that offsets a string of pears. Stalling, I attempt a tease, asking back, "What would you?"
"Why, the bonnet, of course," he answers, blinking his brown eyes in quick secession. "I think it would suit me, don't you?"
I laugh, but only shake my head.
"Now you," he says.
I sigh, feeling as though I'm confessing a sin. "The tea service."
Jo put a crack in our china, though it was unintentional. I'm fond of that little teapot, but I can't help thinking how beautiful the sunlight would be on the silver. But he mustn't think I'm really sad or longing for it, so I lift a shoulder. "I think when I'm married, perhaps I'd like one like that."
His mouth perked. "When you have a wedding," he replies solemnly, "I'll buy it for you." Then he breaks the solemn moment with a jab of his elbow, whispering, "Who's the lucky guy? Someone have your glove?"
"No," I ask, though the comment makes me remember I still have gloves to give poor Ahren. "Nobody in particular. Just someday, maybe, if anyone will have me."
"Oh, they'll be lining up at the door, and Jo will chase them off with a baseball bat," Laurie teases.
"Jo will invite them to play baseball," I said. It's scarcely loud enough for Laurie to hear, but he puts his head closer to me to listen, then laughs.
"Who's playing baseball?" Jo swings her basket as she lopes down the stairs. It'll fill up, and Laurie will probably end up carrying it, but for now it's empty except a blue hair ribbon to cheer up Amy.
"Nobody," Laurie answers, turning sparkling eyes toward me. "We're just speculating."
"To the grocers?" I ask.
We leave the silver tea service behind. I breathe a slow breath of relief. For a moment, I thought Laurie might march in there and buy it, announcing I was looking to woo a husband or some nonsense.
I walk sandwiched between Jo and Laurie and feeling safer for it because no matter which side someone passes on, they look at them and not me. The safety lasts until we reach the grocers. Jo talks to the grocer to place our order and Laurie disappears in a display of fruit. I step into my usual crevice behind the bolted material as the door jingles. Shoes give an uneven patter, one squeaking, and one flapping. I don't realize until know that I've learned to recognize that peculiar pattern as belonging to Ahren.
I step out to say hello, but he's already passed me and stands at the corner of the register's desk.
"I told you, I can't give any more credit," Mr. Lane says.
Ahren shakes his head. His teeth are chattering, and when he clamps his jaw, the shaking goes to his clenched hands instead. "No, sir. I came to pay what we owe."
Mr. Lance crosses his arms in front of him as he leans onto the counter. "All of it?"
Ahren gives a short nod. "Yes, sir. My father sent it."
I step back between the shelves, feeling like an intruder. I can hear Jo's hoop bumping into things on the corner shelf. And Laurie's frowning at the apples, pretending not to notice Ahren, who, in turn, is studying the wood knots on the counter like they're the most important thing in the world.
The grocery steps to the back to even the accounts and a burly man leans toward Ahren, asking, "You stopping by the tavern to level your tab there too?"
Ahren frowns, blinking before he says, "I don't owe anything at de tavern."
"Your father does," the man presses.
"Den you must speak to him about it."
The man opens his mouth, then closes it. Ahren shifts onto his bad shoe, waiting until the grocer returns. "Tell your father, you still owe $1.75."
"Yes, sir." Ahren winces and nods but doesn't say anything about bringing the money tomorrow.
He turns toward me, and I hide again, now hoping against everything that he doesn't see me.
When the bell on the door tinkles, I push my hands together, clutching one, then the other until our goods are gathered. I flee the door before Jo or Laurie, ready to blame my flushed face on the cold. But they're so wrapped up in each other, laughing and teasing, that neither pays attention to me. Laurie's snatching things from the basket and Jo's trying to keep it from his attacks. They only stop after they collide and send the potatoes and ribbon flying.
"We're back!" Jo bellows as she knocks the snow from her boots at the front door.
We settle the groceries onto the table, but Hannah is nowhere to be seen. A quick search of the house locates only Marmie. She's gripping the arms to the rocking chair, unaware of the shawl falling off one shoulder.
"I've sent Meg to fetch Amy," Marmie says. "Jo, I need you to go to Aunt March and borrow five dollars."
"Five dollars?" Jo asks. "Whatever for?"
Marmie's voice cracks at every attempt of an answer. I grip the doorway, already feeling the world turning into turmoil around me.
"It's a telegram," Marmie says. "Your father's been wounded…"
