Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion, combined in a Little Women story. 19th century New England, as Alcott had it.
Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize from Jane Austen's work, or Louisa May Alcott's work, is not mine. Please bear in mind that many of the lines are direct quotes, and Alcott should take the credit for creating them, not me.
The boy stood awkwardly for a while, as he watched everyone bustle in, fussing over Anne. Everyone save Mrs March, who laid a hand on his shoulder, her eyes shining with unspoken gratitude. Freddie smiled self-consciously, and tipped his old hat, of which he was so very fond, saying, "Well, I'll be going now, ma'am. I hope Miss Anne gets well soon."
"Thank you, Freddie," said Mrs March with a gentle, matronly smile. Freddie nodded, then gave a little wistful sigh as he saw the light go on in the upstairs window. He swallowed thickly, and strode away briskly towards the gate and into the night.
The unconscious Anne was quickly brought upstairs into the room she shared with Elizabeth, and changed out of her dirty clothes into her nightgown. Hannah went down to the kitchen to make some broth at once, and Emma departed to fetch the local apothecary. Jane quietly followed Hannah as well, to help. Elizabeth held her sister's hand tightly as she lay on the bed.
"What happened, Marmee?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly as she noted an ugly bruise on the side of Anne's head.
"She was hit by a carriage," said Mrs March simply, as she rinsed out a cloth. "The Moffats' gig. I think Caroline's brother Ned was driving, a bit recklessly. At least, that is what Freddie said. He's a good boy, and brought Annie to the Hummels', for temporary shelter."
"How did he come to find Annie?"
"He was running an errand for the Brookes, and saw the gig injure Annie. And can you believe it, but he said that Ned Moffat did not even look back, though there was a commotion," and Mrs March's expression was uncommonly dark for her usually gentle face.
"Those horrid Moffats!" cried Elizabeth with vehemence.
"Quiet, Lizzy," said Mrs March. But Anne stirred, and moaned, as if asking relief from a nightmare. Elizabeth's attention at once pivoted to the pale face lying against the pillow, and she felt her own eyes well up with tears. She squeezed her hand again, and didn't budge from her seat until Emma came back with the apothecary an hour later.
As it turned out, Anne was not too seriously harmed, though the household suffered a great fright. A week after the incident Ned Moffat came to apologize, though he went about it somewhat ill. It wasn't his fault – he was only driving a bit quickly – he didn't even know until that Wentworth boy told him off to the Brookes, who told his parents, who gave him a scolding – of course he didn't deserve it – but by Jove, he was sorry for Miss March's misfortune. Mrs March graciously accepted his clumsily worded apology, but there was no warmth lost in her tone.
Elizabeth openly scorned and condemned him after he left, and so did Emma, but Jane, ever willing to excuse anyone, said that it was only an accident. He felt awkward – perhaps he was truly sorry but didn't know how to express it all that well, as was often the case with young men. All this Jane said, but whether anyone other than herself sincerely believed it will be left to the reader's speculation.
Perhaps Jane would have been as vehement in her disapprobation as the rest of the family, but for the fact that the young, handsome, and rich Mr Moffat had shown a particular admiration for her. In her heart she could not but be flattered by his attention, though she tried not to let it affect her judgement – but it was hard, for she was young and beautiful as well as poor, and the novelty of a "suitor" went straight to Jane's head. Poor girl, she hardly knew what to do – there was Ned Moffat, and then also her own interest in George Knightley to reckon with.
To the great relief of all the family, Anne recovered with time, though the incident left her weaker than ever and she walked with a slight limp for many days afterward. Hannah doted on her, admonishing her if she so much as lifted a finger to pour herself a cup of tea. It was heart-warming, however, to see the colour flood back into her cheeks, and to hear her laughter more and more.
From next door little tokens of concern and flowers were sent, wishing for Anne's speedy recovery. The old gentleman especially took to coming over on fine afternoons, sitting by Anne's bedside and amusing her in his own affectionate way. The two got on haltingly at first, Anne being naturally in awe of Mr Bingley, who had a strong expression and stern gaze. But soon all obstacles were conquered, for kind deeds can help to overcome shyness; and the little girl and the old soldierly gentleman were henceforth often seen together, in either one of the houses or on the sunny garden paths.
When Anne was fully recovered she took to visiting often at the mansion next door, hammering away at the perfectly magnificent grand piano. Mr Bingley would sit in his study with the door open, to listen as the sweet tunes floated in, and sometimes Anne's lilting voice sounded in song to accompany the notes; it warmed the old gentleman's heart, for he felt as if he had got his own little granddaughter back, who had had the same blue eyes and serene expression as she sat at her little cabinet piano...
And a surprise did await Anne one evening, as she came home from the gardens where she had been strolling with Betsy.
Elizabeth with great excitement ushered her into the living room. In the middle stood the most adorable instrument Anne had ever seen – she stood in rapt silence for awhile, wondering if perhaps she was dreaming.
She did not notice that she had voiced this thought aloud until Emma laughed and shook her head. "No, it isn't; Mr Bingley sent it. Isn't that charming of him?" Anne was quite overcome, and could only nod.
Mrs March led her gently to the new piano which replaced the older one. Jane pulled out the bench for her, and Elizabeth took out Anne's favourite music.
So Anne tried it, and everyone pronounced it the most remarkable piano ever heard. It had evidently been tuned and put in apple-pie order, but, perfect as it was, the real charm lay in the happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Anne lovingly touched the black and white keys and pressed the bright pedals.
"You ought to go and thank him," said Mrs March.
"I shall," agreed Anne, tenderly closing the lid.
And donning her hood, she set out across the short distance towards the mansion, singing lightly as she went. Florence opened the door for her, and she thanked the maid with happy eyes.
She found Mr Bingley in his study, his grey head bent over an elegantly framed portrait. Anne stole in timidly, stopping beside his chair and laying a hand on his shoulder. The old gentleman started, and sat up straight, his face softening when he saw who had disturbed his solitude.
"I wanted to thank you," said Anne softly.
"Now there, no need for that," said Mr Bingley gruffly, setting the portrait on the desk. Anne touched it gently, noting that it was the picture of a young girl like herself, with soft hair and mild blue eyes.
Without a word Anne put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Mr Bingley enfolded her in his arms, thinking of his dear little Ellie who departed so soon, and Anne felt for his loss, her gentle heart overflowing with empathy.
"Annie, I've invited someone to dinner for tomorrow, and I hope you will help prepare something special," said Mrs March a few evenings after, cuddling Anne in her lap.
"It's not me, is it?" said Charlie laughingly, as he jumped one of Elizabeth's pieces on the checkerboard.
"Charlie!" cried Elizabeth, staring outraged at the board. Emma, who was overlooking the game, laughed and pulled her braid affectionately, saying, "Don't be a baby, Lizzy. There's plenty of time still to turn the tide."
"No, it isn't you, Charlie, although you are welcome if you like," said Mrs March.
"Then will you not tell us who is coming?" said Jane, who was fixing up a bonnet for Susie King's doll.
"Frederick Wentworth, the boy who so kindly helped Annie that terrible day," said Mrs March, hugging Anne closer as she thought of that day's worry and suspense.
"I should like to thank him too," said Anne thoughtfully.
"Ha!" cried Elizabeth triumphantly, as she skipped her piece across the board. Charlie laughed, and conceded the game to her.
"You are getting better by the minute, Lizzy," he said. "Pretty soon you might even be able to best Darcy."
Elizabeth frowned. "I don't understand how you can like him so, Charlie. He is such a disagreeable, unreasonable, awful, ridiculous, conceited..." she said, exhausting her repertoire of words synonymous with "bad", in her definition.
"As well as handsome and clever," said Charlie, with a sly wink at Emma, who coloured, retorting that it was very unfair of him to hold her words against her in such a way. Elizabeth, appalled at her sister's gross betrayal, exclaimed that he was, indeed, the ugliest and stupidest person she knew.
"Lizzy," chided Jane, before Mrs March could.
"I am sure he is not so bad as you make him out to be, dear Lizzy," said Anne. Elizabeth shrugged, and said that perhaps she was right.
"Anyhow," she said with a sage expression. "It is a very bad use of time, arguing over that – that tutor's" – this was said as if it was the height of insult – "deficiencies, or lack thereof," she ended, shooting a look at both Charlie and Emma, who laughed.
"Well, I should really go back now," said Charlie reluctantly, referring to his watch. "Thank you for a lovely evening, ma'am," he said to Mrs March, who kindly patted his hand and wished him goodnight.
"Goodnight, Charlie. I hope you aren't too disappointed over your defeat," said Elizabeth, laughing.
"Not a chance."
Anne flew about the kitchen the next day, Hannah occasionally as frantic as she was in getting things done, and occasionally chiding her for so much exertion only weeks after her accident. Soon the girls came home, and three more helping pairs of hands joined in making dinner. But a short while after, they all unanimously agreed that Elizabeth would be more useful elsewhere, without toppling pots and burning the vegetables.
Mrs March and Freddie arrived at the same time, Freddie looking very stiff and freshly-scrubbed. Hannah made him feel at home instantly, bustling and hovering about him like an affectionate old aunt.
Anne shyly stepped forward and held out her hand, saying, "I'm so glad to see you, thank you for what you did that day."
"You're welcome," said Fred, slightly uncomfortably, taking her hand and staring at it for awhile before shaking it hesitantly. "Miss Anne."
Elizabeth spoke up then. "Let's to dinner now, it smells wonderful, though they wouldn't let me anywhere near it."
Emma laughed, "And good thing we didn't too. I daresay you would have burned one half, and dropped the rest."
They all took a seat around the table, and each dish was pronounced perfectly divine, in taste as well as design, for Emma loved to arrange the food prettily on the dishes, saying that it added a beautiful air to a meal. Elizabeth would shrug, wondering what the use was if it all ended up in your stomach either way, all jumbled up and – here Jane would command her to stop.
Dessert was a surprise – fruit and lemon pie. Hannah looked reluctant as she brought it out, while Jane, Emma and Anne looked confused, not remembering making the lemon pie, only arranging the fruit. Elizabeth beamed all round the table, announcing proudly that she had made it.
"How did you get into the kitchen without us knowing?" cried Emma, dreading what was to come and eyeing the pie with a great amount of suspicion.
"I made it yesterday with Hannah's help," said Elizabeth smugly. "It's very good, I promise, and Hannah didn't help me much. Fred, why don't you try it first, being the guest of honour and all?"
Fred squirmed a bit in his seat, looking very terrified at the prospect. He had heard enough from all members of the family to understand that Lizzy March was not precisely an exemplary chef, and so we may excuse him for shrinking a bit from the formidable task that lay ahead of him. He never thought to decline, for that would seem rude – so he nodded apprehensively, taking a plate with a slice of pie with thanks.
He picked up his fork, and timidly poked at the crust. He looked up, and saw that everyone's eyes were on him, watching him intently. He took a deep breath, holding up a morsel to his mouth, and swallowed quickly. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering if there existed in the world anything more vile, but dared not voice his thought. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Elizabeth was looking to him with a bright, hopeful expression.
He gulped, and took a drink from his cup. "Simply delicious," he said with a smile, hoping that Elizabeth wouldn't notice that his smile wavered a bit.
But Elizabeth smiled broadly, and regarded everyone triumphantly. "See?"
Hannah, Jane and Emma, and even Mrs March, looked at Fred a bit skeptically, but Anne smiled and said, "I knew you could do it, Lizzy."
Elizabeth laughed and sliced a pie for herself as well, blithely holding up a generous serving to her mouth. She took a large bite, and froze.
Fred coloured, staring intently at the tablecloth.
"Simply delicious, my foot!" sputtered Elizabeth, downing her cup in one gulp. "Oh, Hannah, what did I do wrong? It tastes absolutely disgusting."
"How would I know?" asked Hannah indignantly. "You wouldn't let me help at all, I'm sure you'll recall."
Elizabeth sighed, but smiled valiantly at Fred. "Thank you for being nice and saying it was delicious, anyway."
Fred bit his lip. "I'm sorry. But it did taste... unique."
The pie was forgotten as the table burst into laughter, and the rest of the dinner passed pleasantly. Fred and Anne immediately became fast friends; Fred admired the gentle little girl for her soft ways, and from Anne's gratitude sprung for him a lasting friendly feeling.
Following dinner Anne and Fred sat chatting, Snuffles settling in Freddie's lap.
"Do you have brothers or sisters, Freddie?" asked Anne kindly, watching as Snuffle lazily stretched out on him.
"A sister. Her name is Sophie, and she is quite younger than me, and lives in an orphanage, you know," he said.
"But you do visit her often?"
"Not really," said Fred. "She is quite far away, and I fear she has just about forgotten me."
"What was she like?" asked Anne, trying to imagine what it would be like if one of her sisters were to go away, and failing.
"She was a very pretty baby, with big brown eyes like – like Miss Lizzy's, and curly hair. The last time I saw her she was five, and very sad to part from me, but I daresay she wouldn't know me now," said Fred, his face taking on a faraway look.
"You miss her, don't you," said Anne gently. "I would too."
"Yes, well," said Fred, clearing his throat. "It's been awhile."
The clock struck seven, and Fred stood up to leave, saying that the Brookes expected him to come home before eight. He shyly took his leave, amid the goodnights of the family. Anne held out a pair of mittens for him, saying that she had knitted them for him, and he would need them since it was a cold night; Fred expressed his heartfelt thanks, putting them on carefully. With a wave he strode out the door, and tipped his hat a final time when he reached the gate.