Little Vampire Women (5 page)

“G
irls, where are you going?” asked Amy, coming into their room early one Saturday evening, and finding them getting ready to go out with an air of secrecy which excited her curiosity.

“Never mind. Little girls shouldn’t ask questions,” returned Jo sharply.

Now if there is anything mortifying to our feelings when we are young, it is to be told that, especially when we are not really young and have been on this earth for more than forty years, though our appearance, thanks to its vampire nature, doesn’t show it. To be bidden to “run away, dear” is still more trying to us. Amy bridled up at this insult, and determined to find out the secret, if she teased for an hour. Turning to Meg, who never refused her anything very long, she said coaxingly, “Do
tell me! I should think you might let me go, too, for Beth is fussing over her piano, and I haven’t got anything to do, and am so lonely.”

“I can’t, dear, because you aren’t invited,” began Meg, but Jo broke in impatiently, “Now, Meg, be quiet or you will spoil it all. You can’t go, Amy, so don’t be a baby and whine about it.”

“You are going somewhere with Laurie, I know you are. You were whispering and laughing together on the sofa last night, and you stopped when I came in. Aren’t you going with him?”

“Yes, we are. Now do be still, and stop bothering.”

Sitting on the floor with one boot on, Amy began to cry big fat red tears and Meg to reason with her, when Laurie called from below, and the two girls hurried down, leaving their sister wailing. For now and then she forgot her grown-up ways and acted like a spoiled child. Just as the party was setting out, Amy called over the banisters in a threatening tone, “You’ll be sorry for this, Jo March, see if you ain’t.”

“Fiddlesticks!” returned Jo, slamming the door.

They had a charming time, which was a relief, for things between the Marches and Laurie had been a bit awkward of late with Mr. Laurence’s transformation into a creature of the night. He was still a kindly old man, but he could not quite control his hunger yet and had thrice tried to dine on his grandson. Now all of Laurie’s defender training sessions became useful
and he was able to subdue the elderly aggressor until Brooke returned with a portion of cow’s blood.

Laurie didn’t mind the violent attacks, for he knew his grandfather meant well in his desire to consume an equal rather than prey on the poor. Mrs. March assured him that in a few months, two years on the outside, the old man would gain the upper hand of his new, beastly hunger. And he didn’t resent Beth at all for turning the old man. He understood how the timid young vampire had done the only thing possible, overcome with emotion as she was.

No, the unpleasantness stemmed from the fact that the Marches refused to even consider turning him as well. It seemed remarkably unfair that his grandfather should be extended the courtesy but not him. He was the one who longed to have grand adventures and duel with slayers and play music all night and never have to go to college or become a boring old businessman. He wanted super strength and eternal life.

His grandfather had not desired it and yet had been granted it.

Marmee tried to make the lad understand how precious human life was and that it should not be discarded on a whim. He was young yet, she pointed out, and would no doubt feel differently about it in a few years. Laurie insisted his feelings would not change but nobody would listen to him, treating him instead like a little boy who didn’t know his own mind. Deciding another tactic
might yield better results, Marmee explained that it went against the Marches’ principles to change a human for reasons other than love. Of course the girls would sire mates when the time came, but as their mother and a devout humanitarian, she simply couldn’t condone their siring for anything less. Naturally, Laurie raised the issue of his grandfather, for they all knew Beth had not sired a mate. Marmee agreed it was highly irregular, but timid Beth was so special and her motive for changing Mr. Laurence so pure that nobody could object.

Laurie conceded the truth of this but thought it was mightily ungenerous of Mrs. March not to volunteer to change him herself. She already treated him like a son; why not make him a real one?

His grandfather was just as bad. Between ravenous assaults on his grandson, he explained to the boy that he was now vitally important to the success of the company, rightly pointing out that much business was conducted during daylight hours and someone who could attend board meetings, lunches, and conferences was an invaluable commodity.

Laurie understood the arguments but thought they were heartily unfair and remained sullen and sulky. His tutor Mr. Brooke tried to cajole him out of his disappointment by listing all the ways he was lucky to be human. Football, for instance, could not be played by the light of the moon.

And now he, Laurie, Meg, and Jo were at the theater
together having a good time, even though Jo was a bit distracted by her fight with Amy. She and her youngest sister had had many lively skirmishes in the course of their lives, for both had quick tempers and were apt to be violent when fairly roused. Amy teased Jo, and Jo irritated Amy, and semioccasional explosions occurred, with both girls showing their fangs and snarling madly and diving into the other like eager, rabid dogs. Although the oldest, Jo had the least self-control, and had hard times trying to curb the fiery spirit which was continually getting her into trouble. Her anger never lasted long, and having humbly confessed her fault, she sincerely repented and tried to do better. Her sisters used to say that they rather liked to get Jo into a fury because she was such an angel afterward. Poor Jo tried desperately to be good, but her bosom enemy was always ready to flame up and defeat her, and it took years of patient effort to subdue it.

When they got home, they found Amy reading in the parlor. She assumed an injured air as they came in, never lifted her eyes from her book, or asked a single question. Perhaps curiosity might have conquered resentment, if Beth had not been there to inquire and receive a glowing description of the play. On going up to put away her best hat, Jo’s first look was toward the bureau, for in their last quarrel Amy had soothed her feelings by turning Jo’s top drawer upside down on the floor. Everything was in its place, however, and after a hasty glance into her various closets, bags, and boxes, Jo decided that Amy had
forgiven and forgotten her wrongs.

There Jo was mistaken, for next day she made a discovery which produced a tempest. Meg, Beth, and Amy were sitting together, late in the evening, when Jo burst into the room, looking excited and demanding breathlessly, “Has anyone taken my notebook?”

Meg and Beth said, “No” at once, and looked surprised. Amy poked the fire and said nothing. Jo saw the look on her face and was down upon her in a minute.

“Amy, you’ve got it!”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You know where it is, then!”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s a fib!” cried Jo, taking her by the shoulders, and looking fierce enough to frighten a much braver child than Amy.

“It isn’t. I haven’t got it, don’t know where it is now, and don’t care.”

“You know something about it, and you’d better tell at once, or I’ll make you.” And Jo gave her a shake.

“Scold as much as you like, you’ll never see your silly old book again,” cried Amy, getting excited in her turn.

“Why not?”

“I burned it up.”

“What! My little book in which for years I’ve been keeping detailed notes about all my slayer-hunting activities? Have you really burned it?” said Jo, her eyes kindling as her hands clutched Amy’s throat.

“Yes, I did! I told you I’d make you pay for being so cross yesterday, and I have, so…”

Amy got no farther, for Jo’s hot temper mastered her, and she shook Amy by the neck till her teeth chattered in her head, crying in a passion of grief and anger…

“You wicked, wicked girl! I never can write it again, and I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.”

Meg flew to rescue Amy, who did not need air to breathe so was no worse off for being deprived of it, and Beth to pacify Jo, but Jo was quite beside herself, and with a parting box on her sister’s ear, which ejected an upper right molar, she rushed out of the room up to the old sofa in the garret and finished her fight alone, beating up several dozen training figures.

The storm cleared up below, for Mrs. March came home, and, having heard the story, soon brought Amy to a sense of the wrong she had done her sister. Jo’s notebook was the pride of her heart, and she was regarded by her family as a vampire defender of great promise. It was only half a dozen little chapters of tactical fighting schemes she’d invented and hoped to implement one day, but Jo had worked over them patiently, recording every detail and thought she’d ever had. She had just copied them with great care, and had destroyed the old notes, so that Amy’s bonfire had consumed the loving work of several years. It seemed a small loss to others, but to Jo it was a dreadful calamity, and she felt that it never could be made up to her. Beth mourned as for a kitten that ran away before she could eat it, and Meg refused to defend
Amy. Mrs. March looked grave and grieved, and Amy felt that no one would love her till she had asked pardon for the act which she now regretted more than any of them.

When the supper bell rang, Jo appeared, looking so grim and unapproachable that it took all Amy’s courage to say meekly…

“Please forgive me, Jo. I’m very, very sorry.”

“I never shall forgive you,” was Jo’s stern answer, and from that moment she ignored Amy entirely.

As Jo received her kiss before sleep, Mrs. March whispered gently, “My dear, don’t let the sun come up upon your anger. Forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tonight.”

She shook her head, and said gruffly because Amy was listening, “It was an abominable thing, and she doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

With that she marched off to her coffin, and there was no merry or confidential gossip that morning.

That evening, still feeling detestably angry, Jo asked Laurie to go skating with her. He was always kind and jolly and would put her to rights.

Amy heard the clash of skates, and looked out with an impatient exclamation, then, after a flurry to get ready, ran after her friends, who were just disappearing over the hill.

It was not far to the river, but both were ready before Amy reached them. Jo saw her coming, and turned her back. Laurie did not see, for he was carefully skating along the shore, sounding the ice, for a
warm spell had preceded the cold snap.

“I’ll go on to the first bend, and see if it’s all right before we begin to race,” Amy heard him say, as he shot away, looking like a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.

Jo heard Amy stamping her feet and blowing on her fingers as she tried to put her skates on, but Jo never turned and went slowly zigzagging down the river, taking a bitter, unhappy sort of satisfaction in her sister’s troubles. She had cherished her anger till it grew strong and took possession of her, as evil thoughts and feelings always do unless cast out at once. As Laurie turned the bend, he shouted back…

“Keep near the shore. It isn’t safe in the middle.” Jo heard, but Amy was struggling to her feet and did not catch a word. Jo glanced over her shoulder, and the little demon she was harboring said in her ear…

“No matter whether she heard or not, let her take care of herself. Besides, a little cold water won’t hurt her.”

Laurie had vanished round the bend, Jo was just at the turn, and Amy, far behind, striking out toward the smoother ice in the middle of the river. For a minute Jo stood still with a strange feeling in her heart, then she resolved to go on, but something held and turned her round, just in time to see Amy throw up her hands and go down, with a sudden crash of rotten ice, into the river, whose current was suddenly swift and strong and carrying Amy toward a large sharp branch hanging just above the water. Jo’s heart stood still with fear. She
tried to call Laurie, but her voice was gone. She tried to rush forward, but her feet seemed to have no strength in them, and for a second, she could only stand motionless, staring with a terror-stricken face at the little blue hood careening toward the branch. Something rushed swiftly by her, and Laurie’s voice cried out…

“Get her. Quick, quick!”

How she did it, she never knew, but for the next few seconds, she worked possessed, blindly obeying Laurie, who was quite self-possessed, and diving into the river and dragging Amy under the branch that would have staked them both, barely missing it by half an inch, then pulling her safely to shore, where Laurie grabbed the child, more frightened than hurt.

“Now then, we must walk you home as fast as we can. Pile our things on, while I get off these confounded skates,” cried Laurie, wrapping his coat round Amy, and tugging away at the straps which never seemed so intricate before, aware but unable to fully comprehend in the moment that the girls were immune from cold.

Dripping, and crying, bloody tears mixing with streaming water, they got Amy home, and after an exciting time of it, she fell asleep. During the bustle Jo had scarcely spoken but flown about, looking wild, with her things half off, her dress torn, and her hands blue from immersion in ice. When Amy was comfortably asleep, the house quiet, and Mrs. March sitting by the coffin, she called Jo to her and rubbed her daughter’s frozen hands.

“Are you sure she is safe?” whispered Jo, looking
remorsefully at the golden head, which might have been swept away from her sight forever by the treacherous branch.

“Quite safe, dear. She is not hurt, thanks to your swift action,” replied her mother cheerfully.

“Laurie did it all. I only let her go, then froze in shock. Mother, if she had died, it would have been my fault.” And Jo dropped down beside the coffin in a passion of penitent tears, telling all that had happened, bitterly condemning her hardness of heart, and sobbing out her gratitude for being spared the heavy punishment which might have come upon her.

“It’s my dreadful temper! I try to cure it, I think I have, and then it breaks out worse than ever. Oh, Mother, what shall I do? What shall I do?” cried poor Jo, in despair.