Little Women and Me (20 page)

When the war was finally over and it was time to eat, Mr. Brooke asked who could make good coffee.

Jo immediately volunteered.

Double HA!
was all I could think. Just because she had a used cookbook, it didn’t mean she’d learned anything from it. And the coffee she made was proof of that.

As the meal drew to a close, I heard Laurie tease Jo, offering her salt to go with her strawberries, and she replied that she preferred spiders, immediately—astonishingly!—locating two and squishing them to death between her fingers.

Gross!

I was all out of
HA!
s. All I could think was, at least she didn’t eat them.

After lunch, it seemed like a perfect time to me to play croquet. I wouldn’t mind walking around a bit, exercise off some of the food I’d eaten. But none of the others were interested. Wasn’t that just like me? Out of step with everybody else?

Something else was out of step. Laurie had quietly informed me that the real reason he’d brought Mr. Brooke along was as company for Kate, but as far as I could see, the tutor was spending all his time around Meg: choosing her for his croquet team earlier, sitting next to her during lunch, yakking to her about all things German.

Hmm … could there be something going on there? And why didn’t anyone else seem to notice? Looked like maybe my role was that of the observant March sister. Well, when I wasn’t being the completely oblivious March sister like I’d been with Pip.

“Let’s play a game,” Laurie suggested.

“I brought Authors,” Jo offered.

I had no idea what Authors was, but it sounded like it was probably a game involving specialized knowledge. It was probably all about Dickens—or at least Jo would make it so—leaving me to look like an idiot when the only questions I could answer were those about
Oliver Twist
.

So I was relieved when Kate vetoed the idea with a scathing look at Jo as though playing Authors was just soooo
yesterday
.

“Well, what do you suggest we play?” Jo demanded of Kate, returning scathing for scathing.

“Rigmarole,” Kate answered simply.

“Yes,” I piped up, agreeing with her, “I know how you feel. Jo is always engaged in confusing and meaningless talk.” I laughed. “I’m often tempted to say ‘rigmarole’ to her too.”

Kate placed her lorgnette over one eye, regarding me closely for the first time. “Rigmarole,” she finally uttered, “is a
game
.”

Oh,
snap
.

“Rigmarole,” Kate explained, “is a game where one person begins a story. Then that person talks for as long as he or she likes, halting right before the exciting part, at which point the next person takes over.”

“Huh,” Jo admitted. “That does sound as though it might be fun.”

A lot more fun than Authors!
I thought.

“I’ll start,” Mr. Brooke offered before anyone else had the chance.

“There once was a man,” Mr. Brooke began, “who had a …

job
. Yes, he did have to work for a living, unlike some of the other people in the town. Also living in this town was a girl he liked—”

“But one of the other people in the town,” Laurie cut into the story enthusiastically, “one of those who didn’t have to work, also liked the girl.” Laurie paused, puzzled. “Or maybe he liked a different girl?” He paused again. “Or maybe even a different girl than that? Or—”

“She got drunk one night at a house party!” Ned cut in exultantly.

“I’d like to meet a girl like that,” Fred said with what could only be described as a leering smile.

“Stop! Stop!” Kate cried, waving her lorgnette at everybody.

I looked around at the others. Meg in particular looked uncomfortable, her cheeks reddening.

“You’re not playing it right!” Kate said. “People are just talking whenever they like, not really building the story at all, not stopping it just shy of truly exciting parts. Besides, so far only the boys have gone but none of the girls.”

“Well, I can remedy that,” Jo said. “There once was a girl who lived in a town, and she liked a boy who—”

“May have been a boy who didn’t work,” Meg cut in, “or may have been a man who did, only—”

“He loved her no matter what her nose looked like,” Amy said, excited. “Which was good because—”

“Noses are meant to be loved,” I said, “only there was just one problem.”

I paused and was surprised that no one else cut in. Instead, they all just stared at me, waiting to hear what the problem was.

“This girl,” I finally went on, “could never be sure if the boy, and I do think he was the boy and not the man, really liked her best, or if it was that other girl instead, or that one, or—”

“Stop!” Kate shouted again. Then she threw her lorgnette down on the grass in disgust. “You Americans are hopeless.”

Looked like Jo wasn’t alone in still fighting the war.

“A game of Truth, anyone?” Sallie suggested cheerfully. “That’s always fun.”

Except when it isn’t
, I thought, my hand growing sticky, trapped in the middle of the stack of other hands.

Truth, it turned out, was even worse than Rigmarole.

The way it was played, we stacked up our hands one on top of the other, then a number was selected at random and whoever’s number got called had to answer every question the other players thought to ask.

Lucky me. My number came up first.

“What’s your favorite color?” Amy asked.

That was simple. “Red,” I answered quickly. Then I shook my head, annoyed with myself. “No, it’s green.”

“It wasn’t exactly a trick question,” Jo pointed out.

“Well, it can be.” I shrugged. “I change my mind on these things.”

“Did you even notice Pip existed before his death?” Jo asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” I admitted, not daring to look over at Beth when she let out a little outraged gasp. “But I’m still sorry he’s dead.”

“No one asked you if you’re sorry,” Jo said. “What do you think of Teddy’s sailor costume?”

“You already asked a question.”

“Sallie never set a limit.”

“Fine,” Meg said. “Then it’ll be my question: What do you think of Laurie’s sailor costume?”

Seriously
, Meg?

I didn’t want to answer, but I had to, and I had to do it truthfully. Oh, why couldn’t this be Truth or Dare instead of just Truth? I was much better at dares.

Stupid game.

“It’s awful,” I said. “It’s the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen, unless the person wearing it is actually in the navy, and I’m only glad he’s not wearing knee pants. Seriously, he looks about twelve.”

Laurie’s cheeks colored as he gave me a look that said he felt I’d betrayed him. But it wasn’t my fault—the stupid game
was
called Truth!

“What’s wrong with being twelve?” Amy demanded. “I’ll wager a person can spend the majority of her life being twelve and not mind it.”

What?
What a weird thing to say!

“I think that’s enough questions for Emily,” Sallie said diplomatically. “Jo? I believe your number’s next.”

“What do you want most?” Laurie asked her before anyone else could get a question in.

Everyone shut up then. It was as though people sensed there was more behind the question than just the words on the surface. It was as if even Jo—maybe even me—knew what answer Laurie was hoping to get.

“Genius.” Jo finally ended the uncomfortable silence.

“HA!” This time the
HA!
actually left my body.

“What?” Jo whirled on me.

“Sorry,” I said, still laughing. “I mean, you’re smart enough and everything, but I think you’re a little late for genius.”

“How about Laurie?” Sallie suggested, possibly hoping to nip a sibling skirmish in the bud.

“I don’t have any more questions for Jo at this time,” he said, subdued.

“I didn’t mean that,” Sallie said. “I meant for others to ask you.”

“I’ve got one,” Fred offered mischievously. “Who, Laurie, do you like best?”

I saw Laurie color slightly as he opened his mouth to answer.

Would he say Emily? I dared to hope.

He did look at me first, briefly, considering, but then his eyes veered off and …

And suddenly I realized I had to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. He was going to say “Jo, of course.” He was going to say it because I’d made fun of his sailor costume and because, in spite of Jo saying that “genius” was what she wanted most when he’d probably been secretly hoping she’d say “Laurie,”
she
was the one who always played hard to get.

I had to stop it from happening. I had to keep those words from exiting his mouth.

“Bee! It’s a bee!” I began shouting, extricating my hand from the tower of hands and running maniacally in circles.

“Bee?” Jo said. “I don’t see any
bee
!”

“Borrow Kate’s lorgnette then!” I shouted, still running in circles. “Can’t you see? There’s a whole swarm of them!”

Before long, I triggered mass hysteria, everyone running maniacally in circles, including practical Mr. Brooke and lame Frank.

At last, I collapsed on the lawn.

“The danger’s over,” I gasped, waving my hands to indicate the others could stop running too.

“How about a nice game of Authors?” I suggested when all the others had also collapsed. After all my exertion in the heat, I felt practically delirious. “And I’ll even go first. I’ll take Dickens for eight hundred dollars, Alex.”

“What
are
you taking about, Emily?” Jo demanded.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I only know that if the answer is Bull’s-eye, I’ll stand a chance.”

“You’re making no sense,” Jo said.

“I know,” I admitted.

But one thing did make sense.

I’d prevented Laurie from saying that he liked Jo more than he liked me, that he liked her best. If I could only keep him from ever saying that, I still might stand a chance.

Then Kate was rude to Meg about being a governess; Mr. Brooke stood up for Meg and taught her to read German; Mr. Brooke said Laurie would be off to college next year, making me wonder what a convent-like existence ours would be without him; Mr. Brooke said he’d be off to become a soldier at that time but that he didn’t have a mother or sister to miss him; Amy told Grace we had an
old sidesaddle at home that we put over a low-lying apple tree branch to pretend we were riding a horse, proving yet again how odd the March girls were; Amy said she longed to go abroad; Beth was nice to Frank; the party ended and we all went home.

The Vaughns would be off to Canada the next day.

As I lay in bed that night, I felt pleasantly exhausted.

But then I shot up as a disturbing thought struck me.

At some point—a ways off, but still—the story of
Little Women
as I knew it would reach the end.

Where would I be when that happened? What would become of me once I ran out of story?

Thirteen

It was a warm September afternoon, the summer holiday was drawing to a close, and the other four had just tramped off to do that thing they’d been doing every day now and that I wanted no part of: self-improvement.

Marmee liked for us to be out-of-doors as much as possible. So each day the others would put on what I considered to be ridiculous costumes: floppy hats and brown linen pouches slung over one shoulder, long walking staffs in one hand, various items in the other. Then they’d traipse up the hill between the house and the river, ultimate destination unspecified, and do whatever it was they did. They said they brought their work with them and played at being pilgrims, but for all I knew they could have been casting spells over the town and playing at being witches. As I say, I wanted no part of these self-improvements.

But there was something boring, not to mention a little lonely,
in being left behind, so once they were safely out of view I went to visit Laurie.

“I’m bored, dude,” he said when he came to the door.

“There’s a bit of that going around, dude,” I said. “Maybe we need to do something out of the ordinary?”

“I already tried that,” he said. “I frustrated Brooke by deliberately making mistakes in all my studies, then I scared the maids by implying that one of the dogs was going mad.”