Little Women and Me (26 page)

“It’s wonderful how strong you are about these things,” Laurie said to me in a low voice when Amy had skipped off to pack a
trunk and Meg had followed to help her not pack anything foolish. “The others are lucky to have you. You’re such a brick.”

No one had ever called me a brick before. It was a bizarre compliment, but one that made me feel good.

Then everyone was back in the room.

“Should we write to Marmee and tell her about Beth?” Jo wondered aloud.

“No,” I said, determined to remain a brick now that someone had decided I was one. “It’ll only worry her when she can’t do anything about it anyway. What kind of choice would that be: Stay with her sick husband, who has no other family in Washington, or leave him to come tend to her sick daughter? No, I say leave her in ignorance unless a time comes when she absolutely needs to be told.”

I’d done my best to deliver a persuasively Marmee-ish speech and the others took it well enough. Even Jo nodded a grudging approval.

Then:

“Emily,” Jo said exasperated, “why aren’t you packed yet? Always holding everybody up!”

As I rushed around the bedroom, throwing items into a trunk like a crazy person—mustn’t forget my spare corset!—sadness and worry returned: worry because, having failed to prevent Beth from getting sick, now I might get stuck here forever; and, more importantly, sadness because I’d grown to love Beth and I really hated to leave her behind.

Not to mention that in my mind’s ear I could already hear that wretched parrot taunting me.

“E-mi-LY want a cracker?” it would croak.

Then I brightened.

Once installed at Aunt March’s, there was nothing to prevent me from sneaking back to the house in order to spy on Beth’s progress, was there? And maybe when I did sneak back, I could find something to do to save her.

It was a long walk, but I was strong—a brick, even!

I could do it.

Eighteen

It was a lot easier to make the long walk from Aunt March’s house to the March home than it was to find a good time to sneak in. As I stood freezing under Beth’s window in the gray of a dying day, occasionally going on tiptoe to risk peeks over the ledge, only to see Jo sitting at Beth’s bedside, I kicked myself: I should have waited until the middle of the night, when even Jo would have to fall asleep for a bit. As it was, my feet felt like blocks of ice, my legs too stiff, the road between that house and Aunt March’s too long to go back only to make the trek again later.

And so I waited, waited through the long hours of dying day turning to deeper dusk and finally full night.

For some reason, I’d never noticed how many stars there were. The sky was blanketed with them. Finally, when it must have been long after midnight, I peeked over the ledge to see Jo nodding in her chair.

Now if only Meg and Hannah are asleep
, I thought as I stole into the house, careful not to let the door
snick
shut behind me. I even removed my boots so that the wooden floorboards wouldn’t clack. Then I tiptoed through the house to Beth’s room and stepped softly to the side of her bed.

It’d be nice to be able to say that she looked peaceful in her sleep, but she didn’t. She made no sound, but she tossed and turned violently as though fighting with something I couldn’t see. Without thinking, I removed my chilled hand from inside my muff and placed it on Beth’s feverish cheek. Almost immediately, she stilled her jerky movements. For a horrible second I thought I’d killed her, but then I saw a peaceful smile on her lips.

Poor Bethie.

I would’ve stood there longer, happy to be Beth’s personal refrigeration unit for however long she needed me, forever even, but then I heard Jo make restless noises.

Oh honestly. Was she already waking again? What was the girl, a vampire?

Not wanting to risk getting caught, I dove into the half-opened closet, pulling the door nearly shut behind me.

Oh great, I’m stuck here now
, I thought.

It turned out to be a good thing I was stuck, because I got to hear how good Jo was with Beth when Beth wakened suddenly from some fever dream.

But then it turned into a bad thing when morning came and with it Dr. Bangs, who had Jo leave the room while Hannah stayed with him and he examined Beth.

That was when I learned that Beth was far sicker than anyone but Dr. Bangs and Hannah realized.

It was even more of a nuisance sneaking out of the house than it had been sneaking in. First I had to wait for the doctor and Hannah to leave, then I had to wait for Jo to go to the bathroom, which seemed to take a very long time before she did—the girl was like a camel!

But I wasn’t. I hadn’t gone in hours and hours.

So it was with great relief that when Jo left the room, I crossed to the window, stopping briefly to kiss Beth’s forehead before pushing the window open and crawling out.

Only then did I put on my boots.

And pee behind a tree in the woods.

And begin the long journey back to Aunt March’s, where hopefully pretty Amy was occupying her attention enough with her accomplishments that Aunt March wouldn’t notice I’d been absent from breakfast.

Hopefully, I’d get a nap in at some point today, since I’d be coming back to Beth’s room later on, only this time I’d plan my visit better.

I did plan my next visit better, and all the ones the entire week after that.

I would set out at about ten p.m. Then, whenever I saw Jo dozing, I would make sure to stop at the kitchen first to grab some small food item that I could eat when hunger grew to starvation point.

Sometimes Jo would sleep for longer periods, allowing me more time with Beth. Then I’d watch as she twisted and turned in her sleep. But no matter how violently she moved, she never relinquished her hold on headless and limbless Joanna.

And sometimes in the mornings, before I had a chance to
sneak back out, I would hear Beth trying to sing as she used to love to do, her voice through her sore throat coming out a heartbreakingly agonized croak. Those were
almost
the hardest moments. The hardest was when it became obvious she no longer recognized anyone, when I would hear her calling Hannah “Amy” or calling Jo “Emily.” In normal times, Jo would no doubt resent the mix-up, while I’d enjoy it, but these weren’t normal times. I wanted nothing more than to hear Beth recognize Jo as Jo, and I was sure Jo felt the same.

That was the first time I heard Jo and Meg seriously consider writing to Marmee to tell her what was going on. But then Hannah brought in a telegram from Washington saying Papa had taken a turn for the worse and that we shouldn’t expect Marmee for some time. Hannah didn’t think we should worry Marmee when she could do nothing about it.

There was another morning when I heard the voice of the Hummel woman coming from the living room, apologizing for Beth being sick and asking for a shroud in which to bury her baby, Minna.

I felt sorry that the baby had died, but a part of me couldn’t help but be angry with her over Beth getting sick.

Others came to visit too—so many others! Neighbors, the milkman, even the butcher! People I’d never heard of before came to the house, all worried about Beth, taking the risk to come because they loved her so much.

It would be so easy for kids I knew back home to make fun of Beth for being such a homebody and all her other simple ways—and don’t get me started on her love for the doll Joanna. But she was so
good
, and yet not in an annoying way. No wonder people couldn’t help but love her. Me, on the other hand? No
matter what century I was in, I wondered who would be there if I got sick … or worse … But Beth?

I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want to think of that anymore.

But then I had to think about it.

Because then came the horrible night when, after Jo had fallen asleep, I heard Beth moaning for Marmee. Beth had never called for her since getting sick, at least not when I’d been there. I’m sure she must have wanted to—Beth was the type of girl who would want her mother when sick; they all were—but I’m also sure that of all the people in the world, Beth never wanted to be a burden on anybody.

Why wasn’t Jo waking and going to her? Beth’s cries sounded so loud to me. Then it occurred to me that Jo must be exhausted from staying awake twenty-three hours a day.

I couldn’t let Beth go on crying for Marmee that way. I had to do something.

Pushing the door gently open I crept to Beth’s bedside, took one of her hot hands in one of mine.

Her eyes fluttered open and then locked on my face.

“Marmee?” she croaked wonderingly.

“No—” I started to say, then cut myself off when I saw she really didn’t know the difference.

“Yes,” I corrected myself, soothing her brow with my free hand. “It’s Marmee. Now I need you to rest and concentrate as hard as you can on getting well. We all love you so much.”

She breathed a happy sigh. “Could you sing me back to sleep?” she asked.

Sing? I wished she’d asked for anything but that. Not only would I wake the others, I was an awful singer.

But it was Beth. How could I refuse her?

“What would you like me to sing?” I asked.

“‘Onward Christian Soldiers’? You always like that one.”

No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know that one!

So in the quietest voice possible, I sang “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus.

It was the only song I could think of just then that might be something Beth might like.

“I don’t know that one,” she said.

“That’s because you missed church on Sunday,” I said, thinking fast. “It’s a new hymn. The whole town can’t stop singing it.”

“I like it.” She rolled over with a yawn. “Could you sing it again, Marmee?”

“Yes,” I said, settling down beside her, wrapping my arms around her and rocking her body. “But you must promise to try and rest now.”

“I promise.”

So what could I do? I sang again.

“I’ve never heard that song either,” came Jo’s voice, surprising me that she was now awake, “and anyway, we don’t even go to church. You know that.”

“Does it matter?” I eased my hold on Beth’s sleeping body.

“What are you doing here?”

“Does it matter?” I adjusted the pillows under Beth’s head.

“You could catch the fever.”

I bent to kiss Beth’s brow. “Does it matter?”

Apparently it did matter to Jo and Meg.

They understood why I’d snuck in—who didn’t love Beth?—but still they sent me back to Aunt March’s.

And still I snuck back that night.

It was the first of December, almost a year since I’d arrived. I’d been fourteen when I got here. I was fifteen now. Back home, Anne would be in the Upper School at Wycroft and the fall term would be nearly done. She and Jackson were probably a couple by now, not that it mattered to me anymore. So much had changed, including me.

I was in the closet to hear Beth become increasingly incoherent, tossing out words in her troubled sleep that made no sense. And I was there to hear it when Dr. Bangs came to examine Beth, finally saying with a sad sigh that it was time to send for Marmee.

No!

Not yet! I was almost sure Beth wasn’t supposed to die yet! Didn’t a whole lot of stuff from the original book still have to happen first? But maybe I was having story amnesia again. Maybe this
was
when she would die.