AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION
Like bees swarming after their queen, mother and daughters hovered about Mr. March the next day, neglecting everything to look at, wait upon, and listen to the new invalid, who was in a fair way to be killed by kindness. As he sat propped up in a big chair by Bethโs sofa, with the other three close by, and Hannah popping in her head now and then โto peek at the dear manโ, nothing seemed needed to complete their happiness. But something was needed, and the elder ones felt it, though none confessed the fact. Mr. and Mrs. March looked at one another with an anxious expression, as their eyes followed Meg. Jo had sudden fits of sobriety, and was seen to shake her fist at Mr. Brookeโs umbrella, which had been left in the hall. Meg was absent-minded, shy, and silent, started when the bell rang, and colored when Johnโs name was mentioned. Amy said, โEveryone seemed waiting for something, and couldnโt settle down, which was queer, since Father was safe at home,โ and Beth innocently wondered why their neighbors didnโt run over as usual.
Laurie went by in the afternoon, and seeing Meg at the window, seemed suddenly possessed with a melodramatic fit, for he fell down on one knee in the snow, beat his breast, tore his hair, and clasped his hands imploringly, as if begging some boon. And when Meg told him to behave himself and go away, he wrung imaginary tears out of his handkerchief, and staggered round the corner as if in utter despair.
โWhat does the goose mean?โ said Meg, laughing and trying to look unconscious.
โHeโs showing you how your John will go on by-and-by. Touching, isnโt it?โ answered Jo scornfully.
โDonโt say my John, it isnโt proper or true,โ but Megโs voice lingered over the words as if they sounded pleasant to her. โPlease donโt plague me, Jo, Iโve told you I donโt care much about him, and there isnโt to be anything said, but we are all to be friendly, and go on as before.โ
โWe canโt, for something has been said, and Laurieโs mischief has spoiled you for me. I see it, and so does Mother. You are not like your old self a bit, and seem ever so far away from me. I donโt mean to plague you and will bear it like a man, but I do wish it was all settled. I hate to wait, so if you mean ever to do it, make haste and have it over quickly,โ said Jo pettishly.
โI canโt say anything till he speaks, and he wonโt, because Father said I was too young,โ began Meg, bending over her work with a queer little smile, which suggested that she did not quite agree with her father on that point.
โIf he did speak, you wouldnโt know what to say, but would cry or blush, or let him have his own way, instead of giving a good, decided no.โ
โIโm not so silly and weak as you think. I know just what I should say, for Iโve planned it all, so I neednโt be taken unawares. Thereโs no knowing what may happen, and I wished to be prepared.โ
Jo couldnโt help smiling at the important air which Meg had unconsciously assumed and which was as becoming as the pretty color varying in her cheeks.
โWould you mind telling me what youโd say?โ asked Jo more respectfully.
โNot at all. You are sixteen now, quite old enough to be my confidant, and my experience will be useful to you by-and-by, perhaps, in your own affairs of this sort.โ
โDonโt mean to have any. Itโs fun to watch other people philander, but I should feel like a fool doing it myself,โ said Jo, looking alarmed at the thought.
โI think not, if you liked anyone very much, and he liked you.โ Meg spoke as if to herself, and glanced out at the lane where she had often seen lovers walking together in the summer twilight.
โI thought you were going to tell your speech to that man,โ said Jo, rudely shortening her sisterโs little reverie.
โOh, I should merely say, quite calmly and decidedly, โThank you, Mr. Brooke, you are very kind, but I agree with Father that I am too young to enter into any engagement at present, so please say no more, but let us be friends as we were.โโ
โHum, thatโs stiff and cool enough! I donโt believe youโll ever say it, and I know he wonโt be satisfied if you do. If he goes on like the rejected lovers in books, youโll give in, rather than hurt his feelings.โ
โNo, I wonโt. I shall tell him Iโve made up my mind, and shall walk out of the room with dignity.โ
Meg rose as she spoke, and was just going to rehearse the dignified exit, when a step in the hall made her fly into her seat and begin to sew as fast as if her life depended on finishing that particular seam in a given time. Jo smothered a laugh at the sudden change, and when someone gave a modest tap, opened the door with a grim aspect which was anything but hospitable.
โGood afternoon. I came to get my umbrella, that is, to see how your father finds himself today,โ said Mr. Brooke, getting a trifle confused as his eyes went from one telltale face to the other.
โItโs very well, heโs in the rack. Iโll get him, and tell it you are here.โ And having jumbled her father and the umbrella well together in her reply, Jo slipped out of the room to give Meg a chance to make her speech and air her dignity. But the instant she vanished, Meg began to sidle toward the door, murmuring…
โMother will like to see you. Pray sit down, Iโll call her.โ
โDonโt go. Are you afraid of me, Margaret?โ and Mr. Brooke looked so hurt that Meg thought she must have done something very rude. She blushed up to the little curls on her forehead, for he had never called her Margaret before, and she was surprised to find how natural and sweet it seemed to hear him say it. Anxious to appear friendly and at her ease, she put out her hand with a confiding gesture, and said gratefully…
โHow can I be afraid when you have been so kind to Father? I only wish I could thank you for it.โ
โShall I tell you how?โ asked Mr. Brooke, holding the small hand fast in both his own, and looking down at Meg with so much love in the brown eyes that her heart began to flutter, and she both longed to run away and to stop and listen.
โOh no, please donโt, Iโd rather not,โ she said, trying to withdraw her hand, and looking frightened in spite of her denial.
โI wonโt trouble you. I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. I love you so much, dear,โ added Mr. Brooke tenderly.
This was the moment for the calm, proper speech, but Meg didnโt make it. She forgot every word of it, hung her head, and answered, โI donโt know,โ so softly that John had to stoop down to catch the foolish little reply.
He seemed to think it was worth the trouble, for he smiled to himself as if quite satisfied, pressed the plump hand gratefully, and said in his most persuasive tone, โWill you try and find out? I want to know so much, for I canโt go to work with any heart until I learn whether I am to have my reward in the end or not.โ
โIโm too young,โ faltered Meg, wondering why she was so fluttered, yet rather enjoying it.
โIโll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?โ
โNot if I chose to learn it, but. . .โ
โPlease choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German,โ broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it.
His tone was properly beseeching, but stealing a shy look at him, Meg saw that his eyes were merry as well as tender, and that he wore the satisfied smile of one who had no doubt of his success. This nettled her. Annie Moffatโs foolish lessons in coquetry came into her mind, and the love of power, which sleeps in the bosoms of the best of little women, woke up all of a sudden and took possession of her. She felt excited and strange, and not knowing what else to do, followed a capricious impulse, and, withdrawing her hands, said petulantly, โI donโt choose. Please go away and let me be!โ
Poor Mr. Brooke looked as if his lovely castle in the air was tumbling about his ears, for he had never seen Meg in such a mood before, and it rather bewildered him.
โDo you really mean that?โ he asked anxiously, following her as she walked away.
โYes, I do. I donโt want to be worried about such things. Father says I neednโt, itโs too soon and Iโd rather not.โ
โMaynโt I hope youโll change your mind by-and-by? Iโll wait and say nothing till you have had more time. Donโt play with me, Meg. I didnโt think that of you.โ
โDonโt think of me at all. Iโd rather you wouldnโt,โ said Meg, taking a naughty satisfaction in trying her loverโs patience and her own power.
He was grave and pale now, and looked decidedly more like the novel heroes whom she admired, but he neither slapped his forehead nor tramped about the room as they did. He just stood looking at her so wistfully, so tenderly, that she found her heart relenting in spite of herself. What would have happened next I cannot say, if Aunt March had not come hobbling in at this interesting minute.
The old lady couldnโt resist her longing to see her nephew, for she had met Laurie as she took her airing, and hearing of Mr. Marchโs arrival, drove straight out to see him. The family were all busy in the back part of the house, and she had made her way quietly in, hoping to surprise them. She did surprise two of them so much that Meg started as if she had seen a ghost, and Mr. Brooke vanished into the study.
โBless me, whatโs all this?โ cried the old lady with a rap of her cane as she glanced from the pale young gentleman to the scarlet young lady.
โItโs Fatherโs friend. Iโm so surprised to see you!โ stammered Meg, feeling that she was in for a lecture now.
โThatโs evident,โ returned Aunt March, sitting down. โBut what is Fatherโs friend saying to make you look like a peony? Thereโs mischief going on, and I insist upon knowing what it is,โ with another rap.
โWe were only talking. Mr. Brooke came for his umbrella,โ began Meg, wishing that Mr. Brooke and the umbrella were safely out of the house.
โBrooke? That boyโs tutor? Ah! I understand now. I know all about it. Jo blundered into a wrong message in one of your Fatherโs letters, and I made her tell me. You havenโt gone and accepted him, child?โ cried Aunt March, looking scandalized.
โHush! Heโll hear. Shanโt I call Mother?โ said Meg, much troubled.
โNot yet. Iโve something to say to you, and I must free my mind at once. Tell me, do you mean to marry this Cook? If you do, not one penny of my money ever goes to you. Remember that, and be a sensible girl,โ said the old lady impressively.
Now Aunt March possessed in perfection the art of rousing the spirit of opposition in the gentlest people, and enjoyed doing it. The best of us have a spice of perversity in us, especially when we are young and in love. If Aunt March had begged Meg to accept John Brooke, she would probably have declared she couldnโt think of it, but as she was preemptorily ordered not to like him, she immediately made up her mind that she would. Inclination as well as perversity made the decision easy, and being already much excited, Meg opposed the old lady with unusual spirit.
โI shall marry whom I please, Aunt March, and you can leave your money to anyone you like,โ she said, nodding her head with a resolute air.
โHighty-tighty! Is that the way you take my advice, Miss? Youโll be sorry for it by-and-by, when youโve tried love in a cottage and found it a failure.โ
โIt canโt be a worse one than some people find in big houses,โ retorted Meg.
Aunt March put on her glasses and took a look at the girl, for she did not know her in this new mood. Meg hardly knew herself, she felt so brave and independent, so glad to defend John and assert her right to love him, if she liked. Aunt March saw that she had begun wrong, and after a little pause, made a fresh start, saying as mildly as she could, โNow, Meg, my dear, be reasonable and take my advice. I mean it kindly, and donโt want you to spoil your whole life by making a mistake at the beginning. You ought to marry well and help your family. Itโs your duty to make a rich match and it ought to be impressed upon you.โ
โFather and Mother donโt think so. They like John though he is poor.โ
โYour parents, my dear, have no more worldly wisdom than a pair of babies.โ
โIโm glad of it,โ cried Meg stoutly.
Aunt March took no notice, but went on with her lecture. โThis Rook is poor and hasnโt got any rich relations, has he?โ
โNo, but he has many warm friends.โ
โYou canโt live on friends, try it and see how cool theyโll grow. He hasnโt any business, has he?โ
โNot yet. Mr. Laurence is going to help him.โ
โThat wonโt last long. James Laurence is a crotchety old fellow and not to be depended on. So you intend to marry a man without money, position, or business, and go on working harder than you do now, when you might be comfortable all your days by minding me and doing better? I thought you had more sense, Meg.โ
โI couldnโt do better if I waited half my life! John is good and wise, heโs got heaps of talent, heโs willing to work and sure to get on, heโs so energetic and brave. Everyone likes and respects him, and Iโm proud to think he cares for me, though Iโm so poor and young and silly,โ said Meg, looking prettier than ever in her earnestness.
โHe knows you have got rich relations, child. Thatโs the secret of his liking, I suspect.โ
โAunt March, how dare you say such a thing? John is above such meanness, and I wonโt listen to you a minute if you talk so,โ cried Meg indignantly, forgetting everything but the injustice of the old ladyโs suspicions. โMy John wouldnโt marry for money, any more than I would. We are willing to work and we mean to wait. Iโm not afraid of being poor, for Iโve been happy so far, and I know I shall be with him because he loves me, and I…โ
Meg stopped there, remembering all of a sudden that she hadnโt made up her mind, that she had told โher Johnโ to go away, and that he might be overhearing her inconsistent remarks.
Aunt March was very angry, for she had set her heart on having her pretty niece make a fine match, and something in the girlโs happy young face made the lonely old woman feel both sad and sour.
โWell, I wash my hands of the whole affair! You are a willful child, and youโve lost more than you know by this piece of folly. No, I wonโt stop. Iโm disappointed in you, and havenโt spirits to see your father now. Donโt expect anything from me when you are married. Your Mr. Brookeโs friends must take care of you. Iโm done with you forever.โ
And slamming the door in Megโs face, Aunt March drove off in high dudgeon. She seemed to take all the girlโs courage with her, for when left alone, Meg stood for a moment, undecided whether to laugh or cry. Before she could make up her mind, she was taken possession of by Mr. Brooke, who said all in one breath, โI couldnโt help hearing, Meg. Thank you for defending me, and Aunt March for proving that you do care for me a little bit.โ
โI didnโt know how much till she abused you,โ began Meg.
โAnd I neednโt go away, but may stay and be happy, may I, dear?โ
Here was another fine chance to make the crushing speech and the stately exit, but Meg never thought of doing either, and disgraced herself forever in Joโs eyes by meekly whispering, โYes, John,โ and hiding her face on Mr. Brookeโs waistcoat.
Fifteen minutes after Aunt Marchโs departure, Jo came softly downstairs, paused an instant at the parlor door, and hearing no sound within, nodded and smiled with a satisfied expression, saying to herself, โShe has seen him away as we planned, and that affair is settled. Iโll go and hear the fun, and have a good laugh over it.โ
But poor Jo never got her laugh, for she was transfixed upon the threshold by a spectacle which held her there, staring with her mouth nearly as wide open as her eyes. Going in to exult over a fallen enemy and to praise a strong-minded sister for the banishment of an objectionable lover, it certainly was a shock to behold the aforesaid enemy serenely sitting on the sofa, with the strongminded sister enthroned upon his knee and wearing an expression of the most abject submission. Jo gave a sort of gasp, as if a cold shower bath had suddenly fallen upon her, for such an unexpected turning of the tables actually took her breath away. At the odd sound the lovers turned and saw her. Meg jumped up, looking both proud and shy, but โthat manโ, as Jo called him, actually laughed and said coolly, as he kissed the astonished newcomer, โSister Jo, congratulate us!โ
That was adding insult to injury, it was altogether too much, and making some wild demonstration with her hands, Jo vanished without a word. Rushing upstairs, she startled the invalids by exclaiming tragically as she burst into the room, โOh, do somebody go down quick! John Brooke is acting dreadfully, and Meg likes it!โ
Mr. and Mrs. March left the room with speed, and casting herself upon the bed, Jo cried and scolded tempestuously as she told the awful news to Beth and Amy. The little girls, however, considered it a most agreeable and interesting event, and Jo got little comfort from them, so she went up to her refuge in the garret, and confided her troubles to the rats.
Nobody ever knew what went on in the parlor that afternoon, but a great deal of talking was done, and quiet Mr. Brooke astonished his friends by the eloquence and spirit with which he pleaded his suit, told his plans, and persuaded them to arrange everything just as he wanted it.
The tea bell rang before he had finished describing the paradise which he meant to earn for Meg, and he proudly took her in to supper, both looking so happy that Jo hadnโt the heart to be jealous or dismal. Amy was very much impressed by Johnโs devotion and Megโs dignity, Beth beamed at them from a distance, while Mr. and Mrs. March surveyed the young couple with such tender satisfaction that it was perfectly evident Aunt March was right in calling them as โunworldly as a pair of babiesโ. No one ate much, but everyone looked very happy, and the old room seemed to brighten up amazingly when the first romance of the family began there.
โYou canโt say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you, Meg?โ said Amy, trying to decide how she would group the lovers in a sketch she was planning to make.
โNo, Iโm sure I canโt. How much has happened since I said that! It seems a year ago,โ answered Meg, who was in a blissful dream lifted far above such common things as bread and butter.
โThe joys come close upon the sorrows this time, and I rather think the changes have begun,โ said Mrs. March. โIn most families there comes, now and then, a year full of events. This has been such a one, but it ends well, after all.โ
โHope the next will end better,โ muttered Jo, who found it very hard to see Meg absorbed in a stranger before her face, for Jo loved a few persons very dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way.
โI hope the third year from this will end better. I mean it shall, if I live to work out my plans,โ said Mr. Brooke, smiling at Meg, as if everything had become possible to him now.
โDoesnโt it seem very long to wait?โ asked Amy, who was in a hurry for the wedding.
โIโve got so much to learn before I shall be ready, it seems a short time to me,โ answered Meg, with a sweet gravity in her face never seen there before.
โYou have only to wait, I am to do the work,โ said John beginning his labors by picking up Megโs napkin, with an expression which caused Jo to shake her head, and then say to herself with an air of relief as the front door banged, โHere comes Laurie. Now we shall have some sensible conversation.โ
But Jo was mistaken, for Laurie came prancing in, overflowing with good spirits, bearing a great bridal-looking bouquet for โMrs. John Brookeโ, and evidently laboring under the delusion that the whole affair had been brought about by his excellent management.
โI knew Brooke would have it all his own way, he always does, for when he makes up his mind to accomplish anything, itโs done though the sky falls,โ said Laurie, when he had presented his offering and his congratulations.
โMuch obliged for that recommendation. I take it as a good omen for the future and invite you to my wedding on the spot,โ answered Mr. Brooke, who felt at peace with all mankind, even his mischievous pupil.
โIโll come if Iโm at the ends of the earth, for the sight of Joโs face alone on that occasion would be worth a long journey. You donโt look festive, maโam, whatโs the matter?โ asked Laurie, following her into a corner of the parlor, whither all had adjourned to greet Mr. Laurence.
โI donโt approve of the match, but Iโve made up my mind to bear it, and shall not say a word against it,โ said Jo solemnly. โYou canโt know how hard it is for me to give up Meg,โ she continued with a little quiver in her voice.
โYou donโt give her up. You only go halves,โ said Laurie consolingly.
โIt can never be the same again. Iโve lost my dearest friend,โ sighed Jo.
โYouโve got me, anyhow. Iโm not good for much, I know, but Iโll stand by you, Jo, all the days of my life. Upon my word I will!โ and Laurie meant what he said.
โI know you will, and Iโm ever so much obliged. You are always a great comfort to me, Teddy,โ returned Jo, gratefully shaking hands.
โWell, now, donโt be dismal, thereโs a good fellow. Itโs all right you see. Meg is happy, Brooke will fly round and get settled immediately, Grandpa will attend to him, and it will be very jolly to see Meg in her own little house. Weโll have capital times after she is gone, for I shall be through college before long, and then weโll go abroad on some nice trip or other. Wouldnโt that console you?โ
โI rather think it would, but thereโs no knowing what may happen in three years,โ said Jo thoughtfully.
โThatโs true. Donโt you wish you could take a look forward and see where we shall all be then? I do,โ returned Laurie.
โI think not, for I might see something sad, and everyone looks so happy now, I donโt believe they could be much improved.โ And Joโs eyes went slowly round the room, brightening as they looked, for the prospect was a pleasant one.
Father and Mother sat together, quietly reliving the first chapter of the romance which for them began some twenty years ago. Amy was drawing the lovers, who sat apart in a beautiful world of their own, the light of which touched their faces with a grace the little artist could not copy. Beth lay on her sofa, talking cheerily with her old friend, who held her little hand as if he felt that it possessed the power to lead him along the peaceful way she walked. Jo lounged in her favorite low seat, with the grave quiet look which best became her, and Laurie, leaning on the back of her chair, his chin on a level with her curly head, smiled with his friendliest aspect, and nodded at her in the long glass which reflected them both.
So the curtain falls upon Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. Whether it ever rises again, depends upon the reception given the first act of the domestic drama calledย Little Women.
