Chapter Nine

Laurie usually enjoyed reading every bit of Amy’s letters, but this last missive left him heartbroken.

His first concern was for Beth. Did Amy truly believe she would not recover? Surely their little Bethy would be well again! Even as he thought this, he felt the truth in his heart. Beth had not been strong since her childhood, when scarlet fever had nearly stolen her away from them.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. How he missed them all! Dear Beth, Meg and John, Marmee and Mr. March…and even Jo. He thought of her now with a heartache that had nothing to do with romance. Jo was close to Beth. She would feel her absence keenly.

And what of Amy, alone in Vevay? She told him to stay with grandfather, but how could he, knowing that Beth was so ill? And why would she not speak to him about Fred? They were old friends, after all. He took her letter out once more and reread the short lines.

Regarding Fred Vaughn, I appreciate your kind words and offer of help more than I can express. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you more about it. It is a matter of the heart that must be felt in order to be understood.

What the devil did that mean?

Laurie had always prided himself on having a perceptive and sensitive nature. Even when they were children, he could always discern Amy’s mood—whether she was merely in a pout or truly upset about something, or whether she was excited and happy but trying to be elegant and refined.

He recalled the day Aunt Carrol had offered to take her to Europe. How excited she was to have the opportunity to study art abroad! Her castles in the air were coming true, and all that was missing was a good match.

Laurie tossed Amy’s letter onto the desk with a grunt of annoyance. Well, Fred was a good match, but she had rejected him. Or had Fred ended things? Why? Amy was perfect. Any man would be lucky to marry her.

And why the devil was she so guarded? He would simply write to her and tell her she was being a ninny. Laurie sat down at once, pulling out a piece of paper and his favorite pen.

But instead of admonishments about not sharing her confidences with him—which would have been a ridiculous thing to write—he told her again that he would come the moment she needed him.

My dear friend,

I am troubled in my mind and heart over the news of Beth. I cannot help but think that you should not be alone just now. Be sure to share this burden with Flo and Aunt Carrol, as I know they would wish to comfort you as I do. If there is anything I can do, please write to me. I feel helpless here in London but do my very best to take care of Grandfather. He deserves no less.

The world continues to shift beneath our feet, no matter how hard we try to right ourselves. Our trials and tribulations continue. We must try to bear it, I suppose. After all, ‘what God says is best, is best, though all the men in the world are against it.’

I will not fill these pages with sorrow but strive to make you smile as I did all those years ago when you stayed alone with Aunt March. Do you remember? Our afternoon visits were the highlight of my day during that difficult time. You were so very prim and proper, and I remember spying upon you as you dressed yourself in various old frocks. A pink turban, as I recall! How you loved everything elegant, even then!

You are all grown up now and a fine woman, but I have stumbled upon a book for children that may amuse you. It is utterly strange and wonderful. The title itself should entice you: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The author is one Mr. Lewis Carroll. No relation, I trust, to your own lovely relatives? The work is fascinating, though very odd. Ms. Alice travels through a looking glass to find a world of bizarre and fantastical things. I suggest you find a copy if you need something to transport you.

How do you get on with A Tale of Two Cities?

Write to me often, will you? I enjoy your letters very much.

Your friend,

Laurie

Amy’s response came within days, which Laurie found rather gratifying. This letter was shorter than the last but rather less bleak.

My dear friend,

Thank you for your letter and for your attempts to cheer me with talk of nonsense. Through a looking glass! It sounded diverting, so I went out at once to procure the volume. It was not to be had at any of the shops here in Vevay, so you must save your copy and let me read it soon.

Your reminiscence of those hours spent at Aunt March’s made me laugh. How homesick I was! You were comfort itself. I was so pleased to have you all to myself as we walked or rode each day. And yes, I recall the pink turban I wore! That old attic room was full of beautiful old things. What a treasure trove!

No word from home about Beth. Thoughts of her and dread of the news to come are my constant companions, for ‘as my love is siz’d, my fear is so.’ Do not imagine, dear friend, that I write these words as a secret plea for you to quit your sphere of business and rush to my side. We must both work hard and well in our own ways.

I have almost finished my work for Grandfather. I intend to deliver it in person once it is complete, as I would not feel easy sending it off. I know you will understand. It is a comfort to me that you always do, and I thank you for it.

How goes it with you? Are you learning the business well? Do you like it? Is the weather behaving itself in London? And do you attend to your grandfather as you ought? I hope so, for he is a dear that deserves nothing less. I miss you both.

Take care, my friend, and write to me soon, for I admit that my heart aches with loneliness.

Your friend,

Amy

Well, at least she had found his review of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland amusing. He made a mental note to send her his volume. He would rather just bring it to her himself, but Amy would scold him for abandoning his duty to grandfather.

Yet who was taking care of her? Flo was probably quite preoccupied with her mother. Again, the desire to go to Amy pulled at him. Since he could not go see her, he could at least write to her immediately and tell her how much he wished to visit. He knew his Amy would appreciate such words.

His mind tumbled over the unspoken words. His Amy? His dear friend, Amy. Yes, he could call her that without worry. He knew she valued their friendship, as did he.

My dear Mademoiselle Cassat,

Thank you for your hard work on the commission for Grandfather. I must confess that I am wild to see it. Your artwork has improved so much with your diligent study abroad. Truly, it is remarkable how much you have learned in such a short time. Do not think, my dear, that I mean to say your work was not remarkable before your crossing of the ‘unpathed waters’ to ‘undreamed shores,’ only that you have improved upon the gifts that are rightfully yours.

It is rather unfair of you to keep insisting I must stay here in London and be dutiful. What I wish is to run off and see your fair person. Do you know, Amy, what a help you have been to me these past few months? I came to Europe confused and melancholy; it was your influence that stirred me from my malaise to become a contributing member of society once more. More than that, seeing you and exchanging letters with you have brought a lightness to my heart. As the bard says, ‘Thy friendship makes us fresh and doth beget new courage in our breast.’

I hope you are well and enjoying your surroundings despite your worries. How do you like Vevay? It has been many years since I have been there, though I remember it fondly. The lake is stunning, and your artist’s eye should be finding much to delight in.

Though you have not spoken of it, I must risk your displeasure by asking if your heart aches beyond your worry over Beth. Does it hurt for reasons that, in your words, “must be felt to be understood?”

Write soon and assure me that you are well, for I think of you daily. If you are unhappy, I shall be there in a moment.

Your friend,

Laurie

After posting his letter, Laurie became unsettled and irritable. Had he been too intrusive, requesting that Amy explain herself once again? He had asked about Fred already, and she had politely but firmly put him off. Would she take offense? How could he but ask when she wrote of her heartache?

“Are you quite well this afternoon?” his grandfather asked as they went through some business affairs together.

“Yes, but I find myself slightly distracted—that is all.”

His grandfather nodded. “I understand. I feel it too.”

Laurie knew he was speaking of Beth. A wave of guilt hit him as he realized that, on the contrary, he had been thinking of Amy. He was concerned for Beth, of course, but somehow it was Amy who worried him more.

From what Marmee wrote in her frequent letters, Beth had known for quite some time that her heart was weakening—long before she told her family. Not that the knowing made it any easier, but it must have been a shock to Amy, here in Europe and away from her dear sister.

“Why don’t we take a break, Theodore? I find I am in need of one, as well. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

Laurie felt unbearably restless. “Please excuse me, Grandfather. I believe I need to refresh myself with air and movement.”

For lack of a better option, he took himself off to Hyde Park. It couldn’t compare to the wildness of his dear home in Concord, where he could have enjoyed the solitude of the woods instead of being surrounded by people. However, it would have to do.

He walked alone through the park, not seeing any of the elegantly dressed gentlemen on their horses nor the fashionable ladies in their phaetons. His eyes remained on the ground in front of him as if his shoes were the most interesting thing in the world. Concern for Amy overrode attention to his surroundings.

What of Amy’s heart? Was she sad about Fred? When they had shared the honest truths about their hearts in the garden that day in Valrosa, she had told him that she was content to be respected if she could not be loved.

No, that was not exactly right. She had not mentioned being content or happy about it. Instead, she had sounded…resigned. Although he had begged her to tell him who would not return her affections, she had demurred.

Someone had broken her heart—he could see that now. She had behaved in the most ladylike manner, pursuing her art, attending to her aunt and cousin. She hadn’t allowed herself to become morose and apathetic.

But who was it that had disappointed her? Who could help loving Amy? She was kind-hearted, engaging, attractive, talented and intelligent; in short, she was everything a man could want. Whoever it was must be a complete idiot. A gentleman would be lucky, indeed, to possess Amy’s heart. He couldn't imagine a better partner to walk through life with.

Of course, there was no one that really deserved her. She was too good for Fred Vaughn—that much was certain. He was as stiff as a poker and, besides, hadn’t he left her just when she needed him most? She said they had parted as friends, but any man that would leave Amy March was a fool, and she deserved better.

In fact, there was no one of his acquaintance worthy of her—no one for whom he would willingly part with her.

He stumbled to a stop, at last looking up from the dust at his feet. He blinked and turned around slowly. His mind buzzed, like the feeling one gets when they abruptly wake up from a dream. How had he been so completely blind?

I am in love with Amy March!

Amy. Little Amy. Amy, who had doted on him as a child. Amy, who had flirted with him so amiably as a young woman. Amy, who had made him promise to take care of her dear people while she was in Europe. Amy.

How could he be in love with Amy? It had always been Jo.

When he thought of Jo now, an entirely different feeling filled his heart. She was a dear girl who had helped him through a dark time in his life. She had brought him into the March family and filled his days with joy when his heart was aching over the loss of his father.

But he was not in love with Jo. He was in love with Amy.

Just thinking about her filled him with longing. And guilt.

Dear God, how could he love her? How could she ever accept his feelings with her intimate knowledge of how he had followed Jo around, waiting for the day they could be married? He cringed inwardly. She would believe she was his second choice behind Jo, and her pride would never allow her to accept that.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and resumed his walk. Amy would soundly reject him. And he could not blame her at all.

His mind returned to wondering who it was that would not love her back. He thought long and hard, his feet taking him back home on their own accord. What men were there in her life that had not fallen at her feet?

Was it that she actually did love Fred, but he did not love her back? No. Laurie had asked her frankly about that, and she had replied honestly enough. Could it be someone back in Concord?

He thought of the young men there, uncertain if his memories were distorted by his affection for the lady. But truly he could think of no one. Perhaps Grandfather had noticed what he had not.