Chapter Twelve

Amy came down to breakfast the next morning to find Laurie waiting for her. He met her surprised expression with a smile.

“I hereby give you notice that I shall be by your side until you tire of me and send me on my way.”

His gallant way of speaking reminded her of the way he had acted when they were growing up. Jo may have been his clear favorite, but Amy had enjoyed every moment with Laurie. “Then I should inform you that I shall never tire of your company. You may well expire by my side.”

“I hope it might be so,” he said with a wink.

Her heart fluttered, as it always did when he flirted with her. His lack of awareness of what words such as these did to her did not make it easier. She sighed, and his expression immediately changed.

“Are you tired, Amy? Perhaps you should have rested longer this morning.”

His concern was genuine. Taking his arm, she looked up at him. “Let us go get some coffee and warm bread. I have heard that many women cannot eat when they are grieving, but I am not one of them.”

“I am glad of it. You need to keep up your strength.”

He escorted her into the breakfast room. A small buffet of coffee, hot chocolate, bread, and fresh butter was laid upon a sideboard for the guests to enjoy. Laurie helped Amy into her seat and insisted on filling her plate himself.

His attentiveness warmed her heart. It brought to her mind the time he had rallied to her defense at a little art fair in Concord. A society friend of Amy’s had slighted her work, and Laurie had brought all his fellows in response. He and his friends had swarmed her table and bought every piece. Then, when she had asked him, he had gone and bought two hideous vases from the girl who had insulted her.

Laurie set a plate in front of her before sitting beside her. “It is good to see you smile.”

“I was thinking of the art fair the Chesters hosted for the benefit of the freedmen all those years ago. Do you remember?”

“How could I not? After May Chester insulted you so egregiously?”

Amy smiled at his indignation, delighted that he recalled that day, too. She sipped her coffee. She had tried so hard not to laugh as Laurie paraded around the art room, a vase under each arm. That was Laurie—loyal to a fault.

Again, she thought of Jo. He was devoted to her. How could it be that she refused him after he had shown her such steadfast adoration?

Yet Amy found she could not be angry with Jo. Having lost their dear Beth, any difference of opinion between sisters seemed trivial—even when it came to Laurie. And Jo was entirely correct; she and Laurie did not suit at all. Why, then, could Laurie not see it?

“What is going through that fine mind now? You seem nettled. Are you thinking of Miss Chester and her deplorable behavior?”

He gave her a courtly smile, and Amy’s treacherous heart gave another little flip of pleasure. Why did she find his presence so unsettling? Every smile sent her heart beating. It was both distracting and frustrating.

Laurie didn’t press her for an answer and changed the subject. “Shall we walk out into the sunshine after breakfast?”

“Let’s. I have been finding solace in nature these past few weeks.”

“You have had to bear it alone for so long. You must be exhausted.” He patted her hand. He was correct, of course. She was weary in body and soul and longed to place her head on his shoulder and have a long cry. Instead, she squared her shoulders and ate her warm bread and marmalade.

When they finished eating, Laurie stood and offered her his arm. “Are you warm enough? I do not want you to catch a chill.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you.”

They walked out together into the bright sunshine and to the gardens. Amy had come here every day since receiving Marmee’s letter telling her that Beth had left them. Today, however, the garden did not feel so melancholy.

“Are you sleeping well?” Laurie asked.

“No. My heart and mind are so unsettled that I cannot fall asleep.”

“I understand. After father died, I struggled with the utter stillness of the night. It felt… oppressive.”

“Exactly. It is only me and my thoughts alone in the dark.”

“I wish I could stay with you and keep the darkness away.” A moment after saying it, Laurie seemed to realize the impropriety of such a statement and stammered an explanation.

Amy kept her eyes forward, ignoring the sudden racing of her heart. She shook her head at him and let out a little tsk of annoyance. “Theodore Laurence, you are a careless boy sometimes. But you needn’t worry. It is only me.”

He gave her a winning smile. “Only you? Not only, but especially you.”

“You are speaking nonsense.”

“Yes. Purposely—to cheer you up. Is it working?”

Amy allowed herself a quiet laugh. “It is, my dear friend.”

“Would you care to come to my chateau for lunch today? I shall have them prepare something special for you.”

“Yes, please. What shall we eat?”

“Anything you like! If I have to fetch it from Paris myself!”

“I could not accept such gallantry, for that would take you away, and your company is what helps me the most.”

“What then? More toasted cheese? A special soup?”

She thought for a moment. “Gingerbread! I haven’t had it in so long. But I do not know if they can make it.”

“I shall ask them.”

They had been walking for some time now, and Amy’s energy waned due to her sleeplessness the night before. Laurie stopped walking and turned to face her. He bent down to peer directly into her face.

“You are overtired. I insist that you return to your room and rest. We shall meet again for lunch.”

Ordinarily, Amy would argue, but she was truly exhausted. She elicited a solemn promise from Laurie that he would fetch her for the promised luncheon and then allowed herself to be led back to her hotel.

She retired to her room after assuring Flo that she was well enough—only fatigued. The window was open just enough for a gentle breeze to blow the gauzy curtains slightly. Amy lay on her side and watched them.

She had lost her equilibrium. With every touch, it became harder and harder to act in a neutral way towards Laurie. Was it the loss of their dear Beth that kept her emotions so close to the surface?

Amy had long considered friendship the only way to keep him in her life. It seemed distasteful now—to keep pretending that she did not feel far more than friendship for him. Beth had gone from them, and Jo had rejected his proposal. Their lives were not what they were before, so how could their relationship be? These confusing thoughts swirled in her mind until Amy finally fell asleep.

She woke to Flo’s light touch. “Are you quite well, Amy?” Her cousin had been so kind these past few weeks. Amy smiled up at her.

“I was able to rest, so I am much better, thank you.”

“Laurie is here, but I promised him I would urge you to stay in bed longer if you wished.”

Amy sat up and stretched. “No. Thank you, dear. Please tell him I will be out in a moment.”

Flo patted Amy’s hand and left to relay the message. Amy fixed her hair, which had all come undone as she had slept, and smoothed the creases in her dress as much as she could before going to her dearest friend.

When she entered the parlor, he was speaking quietly with Flo. He rose when he saw her and then regarded her with concern.

“Are you quite sure you have slept enough? It is no trouble for me to call later.”

“You are thoughtful, but I feel quite refreshed.” She turned to Flo. “Would you care to join us, Cousin?”

Flo shook her head. “I thank you, no. I should stay with Mama.”

“You are a dutiful daughter, as always, Miss Florence,” Laurie said with a bow. Flo just shook her head at him with an indulgent smile.

***

Laurie led Amy outside to enjoy the sunny day, appreciating how the light seemed to dance on her golden hair. They walked arm-in-arm to his chateau in companionable silence.

As they seated themselves in the courtyard, Laurie spoke to the waiter. “The Biber cake, please.”

“What is that?” Amy asked, clearly intrigued.

“You’ll see, Mademoiselle.”

In a moment, the waiter returned with a plate of small, delicate looking cakes. They were a wonderful golden brown color and smelled fragrant and sweet. Each cake was decorated with a different scene.

“Oh!” Amy examined them closely with a fascinated expression. “However do they get these pictures on them?”

“I am told that they use a mold. They press the dough into the mold, and it creates the picture on the surface of the cake itself.” He picked up a little round cake with a flower upon it and handed it to Amy.

She took the delicate confection and sniffed it. “It smells like gingerbread!”

Her delight was like a balm. She was so unaffected and good, taking pleasure in simple things of life. He chose a small cake for himself and lifted it to her in a sort of solute, encouraging her to try hers. Upon taking a bite, she closed her eyes in appreciation of the delicious flavor.

“They taste like gingerbread, but they have such a sweet filling! Tell me again what they are called.”

“Biber cakes. They are a Swiss specialty.”

She took another bite of hers and beamed at him. “Thank you, Laurie.”

His heart swelled as he watched her smile, her heartache evidently forgotten for one small moment. Amy closed her eyes again as she took the next bite, and Laurie allowed himself to drink in her beauty—her golden hair, her contented smile, the delicate curve of her neck. She opened her eyes and caught him staring.

“Would you like to visit Chillon Castle today?” he asked abruptly.

Amy’s interest was immediately apparent. “Is the home open for visitors?”

“I believe so. We should ask the concierge.”

“I’ve heard it is stunningly beautiful,” Amy said, her voice almost a whisper. Unexpectedly, the light in her eyes faded, and she looked down.

“What’s wrong, my dear?”

“Is it right to go and take pleasure in a place of beauty when dear Beth is so recently lost to us?”

In response to her distress, he reached across the table and took her hand. “What does your heart tell you?”

Amy was silent for a moment, but her fingers squeezed his as she considered. “I think Beth would not want me to sit sad and idle but to take every opportunity to see and enjoy Vevay. She always appreciated lovely things.”

“That is just what I think.” Reluctantly, he released her hand. His feelings for Amy were increasingly difficult to conceal.

“Do you know, I find myself wondering how dear Joanna fares.”

Unable to place the name, Laurie blinked at her for a moment. “I do not think I know the lady. Who is Joanna?”

This prompted a delicate smile from his companion. “Surely you remember her? Beth was hardly ever without her. Why, even as a young woman, Beth kept Joanna in a place of honor in her bedroom.”

“Not her doll? The one with the rather horrid face?”

“Just the same. Dear old Joanna.”

The memory made him smile. “Do you remember how Beth used to bring all her dolls with her when we would picnic outside?”

“She was as dutiful a caregiver as one might wish. She was always rescuing Jo’s old dolls. They would lose arms and legs from Jo’s rough play, and Beth could never let them go to the waste bin. She cared for each like a true mother.”

“Those dolls were wasted on Jo. I’m glad Bethy took care of them.”

Amy peered at him for a moment, and Laurie was conscious of the fact that he had willingly brought up Jo’s name. As close as Amy was to her family, there was simply no way they could go on without talking of all her sisters. He could speak of Jo with ease now.

“I worry about Meg,” Amy said. “She has her little ones to care for. Oh! To think of all I have missed!”

She put a delicate hand over her eyes, and Laurie knew he must say something to cheer her. “Just think of all the nappies you would have been asked to change.”

Amy’s shocked expression dissolved into a soft laugh; it was like winning a prize at a country fair to see her smile like that.

“You are very wicked, you know.”

“Not too wicked, I hope. I only ever tease to bring merriment.”

“You are a dear to lighten my mood. I have not forgotten how dutiful you were when Beth was first ill.”

“Remember Aunt March’s old bird?”

“Yes! Oh! He was horrid. Always getting me into trouble by saying something rude.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her serious look of indignation. Old Polly had been gone now for many years, but what a devil he had been! Laurie would tweak the bird’s tail to make Amy laugh.

“You would come and visit me every day. I’m not sure I ever told you how grateful I was.”

“Do you remember reading Pilgrim's Progress together when we were children, and we used to bring our work with us outside?”

“I do. I remember seeing you all going off without me and being horribly jealous. I wasn’t about to miss the fun, so I invited myself.”

Amy laughed at the memory. “It was much easier to be good when we were pretending. But how I struggled! I hated sewing for Aunt March. In fact, I hated sewing. I still hate it.”

Laurie gave a look of solemn understanding. Only the slight quirk of his lips gave away his humor.

“I suppose it is not something you would understand,” she said primly.

“I was never forced to sew, it is true.”

The moment of levity passed, and Laurie felt the enormity of their loss pressing upon them both.

“We pulled through together during those dark times.” He placed his hand over hers. “We can pull through once more.”

Tears welled once more in Amy’s eyes, but she nodded and gave him a watery smile. “Thank you for coming, Laurie. Truly.”

Now he was the one who couldn’t speak. So he squeezed her hand again.