It was another Saturday but to Jo the date meant little as she sat by her sister's stone swatting the ground with a long stick of grass wheat. She looked out across the river below under the low-hanging willows that covered Meg's grave in silent shade. The sun was dancing across the long shimmering snake of water that stretched past Jo's line of sight and in its peaceful elegance she knew Meg's smile. Scoffing at her poetic foolishness she slapped the grass again and whispered to Meg that she 'missed her was all and that was the cause of all this pretty considerable lollygagging.' Jo nudged the headstone as a shoulder, choking down a sob as she thought of Meg's shawls. She'd folded them with her mother last Monday and the delicate scent that had filled her nose had all but brought Meg back for one short second. They now lay in a box in the room her babies were to live.
Jo struck the ground, twisting her long-stretched legs restlessly as she told her sister about the twins. "Laurie did it my girl and saved your mannie from being a 'Jack'. He's Demi to your Daisy for it weren't right having two Megs, you see?" They couldn't replace the squalling baby with the beloved woman who slept under the soil.
"I don't suppose you'd like to hear about Daisy catching Amy's finger for the day?" Jo paused though no answer would ever come. "Well our littlest aunt is your daughters new favourite though I changed her for a whole week. 'Spose it's only right for she's a little lady even with all her gurgling and Amy's always known how to have manners and take tea. Oh, Demi does throw a good arm and he kicks something fierce when he's hungry. I think he'll be a fighting man when he's on two feet though I don't reckon that's all too respectable for a son of yours and we shall make a preacher out of him yet Meg, don't you fret."
Jo swiped the wheat across her face as the flies came by and she squinted. She hated thinking too far ahead now and picturing the little grumpy Demi as a grown man with beard and height simply hurt knowing Meg would never see it.
"I'm sorry, Meg dear," she said uselessly if only to tear her mind from her thoughts. "I'm not terribly charming company. I'm sure Beth would be a better gossip for homely things – she always has the best stories of home; I'm only good for the fancying and the romance."
"She'll come tomorrow I think. Wasn't up to the walk today. I think she's taking ill again," Jo whispered the last part not to Meg's grave but the front of her pinafore. Beth hadn't been the same these past two weeks and Jo knew it owed to her eldest sister's sudden passing. She worried that all that time at the sea had gone to nothing when Beth's eyes followed her so solemnly about the room from her bed.
Everything had changed.
Jo hated the spring.