When I was fifteen, I began writing on fanfiction.net because I liked to get feedback from readers. This is one of the stories I wrote for that, based on the character I was playing onstage. Since "Little Women" is in the public domain, I thought I would share the story here. I still like feedback from readers, so please feel free to leave comments. Enjoy the story.
Chapter One: Christmas Wishes
"Jo?" I peek into to the attic where my sister scribbles, penning worlds that only exist her mind. "Are you coming to bed?"
"Not yet, Beth." Jo whispers. "I'm right at the climax."
I slide onto the floor near the chests that line Jo's writing room and trace the names carved into them.
"Oh."
I don’t wish to disturb her while she is writing - especially during the climax -nor do I wish to go back downstairs. Meg needs sleep to be cheerful with the children tomorrow, and Amy will be cranky in the morning if she stays up too late. I won’t even think of waking poor Marmee.
It’s silly, I know, because I am fifteen years old, but I fear the dark. At night, when everything is quiet, I begin to think about Father and wonder if he is cold or hungry. Then I worry all the others out there. Every night, men are wounded. Father writes about them in his letters. Just thinking of a man, lying alone with no one to comfort him and nothing to ease his pain, makes me cry. I feel so spoiled wrapped in my blankets with all my sisters and mother nearby.
Jo continues to scribble, and I open her chest, smiling as I ruffle through the things. There is our newspaper from our last literary meeting. Jo wants me to compose another article for our next paper, but I can’t think of anything to write.
Jo throws down her pencil, then growls. "I don’t believe this! I'm at the most important part of the story, and I have no idea what to write."
"You'll come up with something," I answer, closing the lid. "You always do, Jo."
She removes her writer's cap with a sigh. "Well, not tonight. Marmee won't want us to stay up late on Christmas Eve."
I shake my head. "And we must be awake to act in our play tomorrow! I hope Marmee likes it!"
"Of course, she'll like it!" Jo settles the fact, shoving her chair beneath her desk. "I wrote it."
I smile, but I can’t help wondering. We have never done a play quite this exciting. It has three murders and a kidnapped princess, along with an evil man who triumphs and I worry if Marmee will entirely approve.
I follow Jo downstairs to our room, and rescue Susan from under the dark covers as I climb into bed next to Jo.
"It's Christmas Eve, Beth," she whispers. "What are your wishes?"
She asks the question every year. We are allowed five wishes that will come true over the next five years.
I snuggle deep into the blankets. "I wish that the war will end, and the men will come home safely.
"Don’t we all?" Jo replies.
I bite my lip, trying again. "I wish that Marmee didn't need to work so hard."
"That's Marmee's wish," Jo argues. "You have to wish for something for Bethy and only Bethy."
"Well…" I let my mind wander over everything that I want, but I can’t think of very much that doesn’t involve someone else. "I would like some new music."
"That's a good one. And is your next wish a better piano?"
I giggled. Our piano sounds terrible. It’s out of tune, and the D and G key don’t work anymore, so I must sing along to make the melody whole. But I still love my piano, though it is covered with scratches and gives out funny little songs. I feel like that piano sometimes, hiding in the corner, and wanting to come out, but just not quite brave enough to open up and sing.
"What else?" Jo asks.
I shake my head. "If you take other people out of it, there isn't much else I want, Jo." I shift onto my side to look at her. "What about you?"
"Oh, there's ever so many. I want to be a soldier, but I said that one last year, and it'll never happen, so I'll skip it. I want to be a world-famous writer." She pulls her index finger back, numbering off her requests. "I want to go to New York, and become an actress. I want to learn to control my temper - though that one is more impossible than becoming a soldier. I want to make a great discovery, and I want to conquer the world."
I laugh again. "You will conquer the world, Jo. You can do anything."
"I know one thing I'm going to do," Jo says. "I'm going to get a job and save up my money until we are like we were before Father lost his fortune. I'll get you the best piano ever made, and myself a whole library of books, and Meg all the dresses she could ask for, and Amy…" She hesitates. "Well, I don’t suppose Amy needs much else. She's already getting too vain. Oh, but I'd make us rich, Beth, really rich."
I smile at my older sister. So brave. So funny. So beautiful. "We are rich, Jo."
She nods. "Yes. I suppose you're right. Good night, Beth. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Just like last Christmas, she rolls over and falls asleep. And like last Christmas, I recompose my list with those things that I cannot say - even to my Jo.
I wish I could be brave like Jo.
I wish I could be graceful like Meg.
And I wish - someday far away - that I could - could…
I blush, and press my face to my pillow. I know what my heart longs for, but I can never admit it - even to myself.
Chapter Two
Ahren
"Beth!" Jo's excited whisper pulls me from my dream about old Mr. Laurence next door shaking his cane and shouting at me. "Look under your pillow!"
My fingers touch something soft and cool and I pull out a burgundy copy of Pilgrim's Progress. "Oh Jo! However did Marmee hide it?"
Jo laughs. "She doesn’t! I did! Look, she got me one too!" She held up her own copy of the story.
"Jo! Beth!" Amy rush in, with blonde curls still dishevel from her sleep, holding a book much the same. She stops in shock and sniff the air, her eyes growing wider. "Is that sausage?"
We both sit up and Jo leaps to her feet, then grabs her clothing, "I think it is! Hurry Beth! Sausage! I don’t hardly remember what that tastes like!"
"’Don’t hardly’ is unproper grammar." Amy sniffs, but Jo ignores her.
"Improper, Amy." Meg corrects on her way inside the room. She is already dressed and has her hair pinned up.
Jo barks out a laugh as she haphazardly ties my sash and we hurry downstairs toward breakfast.
"There's a regular little feast!" Jo says.
It is true. There are buck cakes and bread and muffins with cream, and in the middle of the table is a small plate with four oranges in it.
"Oranges!" Amy points. "Oh, look Beth! One for each of us!"
I take an orange and breathe deeply, longing for the trees to bloom outside.
"Where's Marmee?" Meg asks.
Hannah, waves her hand toward us, setting the sausages onto the table. “She says to go ahead and eat. She heard about a family near the edge of town – Hummel's their name. Ten children and the father away. Mother's ill and your Ma went straight off to help.”
"Ten children is a lot to care for," I say, as Amy settlers herself in the chair beside mine. Ten children. How fun it would be. I try to imagine their sweet little faces gathered around our table. Oh, how I love children.
"No food, or fire either." Hannah's voice interrupts my daydreaming. My smile fades as the image turns bad and the children turns dirty and haggard, staring up at me with longing, hungry eyes.
I glance at the other girls. Jo is shaking her head as she butters a piece of bread and Amy is biting into a muffin, but neither seems overly distraught.
"They're starving?"
My one question seems to make the entire table stop.
"Oh, Beth." Meg starts as my eyes fill with tears because I can’t shake off the image of the little children. I feel like I will choke if I take even a bite.
"You can't be upset, Beth." Amy says, stuffing the muffin quickly into her mouth. "People starve every day. You'll starve, too, if you never eat. Besides, Marmee's with them."
"And we should be too." Jo replaces the buttered bread onto the tray.
Amy’s shoulders fall, as Meg nods and covers the muffins.
"Do we have to take it all? May we leave the orange? They won't miss one little thing."
No one says anything, and she hides the orange on her chair beneath the table. Poor thing. It’s been months since we had fresh fruit or sausage, and now we’re giving it all away before she can enjoy it.
I pick up the hot cider drink and hug it close as we step out into the cold air, glad for the warmth, and for something to press against my already fluttering heart.
Mr. Laurence clambers into his carriage, and I step behind Jo as it rolls past. She calls out a greeting but Mr. Laurence glares at us – or perhaps I only imagine that he does.
"Look!" Jo lowers her voice dramatically. "The Captive is with him."
"The Captive" is our name for the new boy. We don’t know his real name, because he’s only been there for a few days. Mr. McGregor, the postman, told Hannah that he is Mr. Laurence's only grandson. He is handsome, as Meg point out, with a very nice smile – I know because he saw me taking Susan for a stroll in the garden once and smiled at me, before I ran inside.
"Lovely day for a picnic!" Jo calls out, as the boy looks in bewilderment at four girls carrying food through the snow.
The boy laughs, and Mr. Laurence told him to shut the carriage window and not let any draft in.
The Hummel's house is on the far edge of town, and when we get there, the snow has seeped through my boots. I doubt the cider will still be warm.
Jo's breath makes a puff of cloud as she turns to us. "I think it's that one."
She point to a little shack set back in the trees, and I slow as we draw closer. There is only the slightest bit of smoke coming from the chimney, and most of the windows are broken. I stop, feeling my heart beating so hard that I think I will choke.
"Come along, Beth." Jo steps beside me. "You don’t want to miss the smiles, when they see us, do you?"
I shake my head, and force my feet to move, thinking only of children and laughter and smiles.
But there are no smiling faces to greet us at the door - only a pile of children, huddle in one bed underneath a threadbare blanket, with white faces, blue lips and large, frighten eyes. The wind blows right through the window and a pile of snow lays on the floor near the wall where it has fallen from the windowsill. The fire is little more than a pile of glowing ashes, and the house is bare and filthy.
"Girls!" Marmee's voice had never sounded as sweet as it did then. "I'm so glad you came!" She sat over with the mother and a tiny baby on the only other bed in the room.
Jo lumbers toward the fireplace and dumps the wood she carries. One girl, about thirteen, pulls back the covers and slips over to help her. She doesn’t have any shoes – only a pair of woolen socks that I recognize as ones I knit for father at the camp. Marmee must have brought them today.
Meg takes charge of the children, lining them up and handing out muffins. Once the children see the food, it seems they comes alive, like hungry baby birds, and reach out, calling out words in English and German. Amy takes the only little spot left on the bed and passes out the warm sausage, and I take the cider over to Jo. "We didn’t bring any cups."
"We have some." The girl answers, turning and hurrying to the cabinet. She opens it, and I spy five wooden plates, three bowls and two cups. I fill them up and give Jo the cider to reheat.
Mother wraps her shawl tighter around the woman's shoulders and walks to us. "I'm so glad that you thought of firewood, Jo. I didn’t think to bring much, and we already used most of it. I sent Ahren out to get some a few hours ago, but he has not returned yet." She slips the baby into my arms. She is cold and dirty but her eyes were bright as she looks up at me. I sink near the fireplace, enamor and horrified at the same time.
"Her name is Gretchen," the girl says. "And I'm Lotchen."
"It's good to meet you, Lotchen!" Jo booms enthusiastically. I smile at her, but I can’t tear my eyes from the baby for long. Her hands are so tiny and so cold. I pull off my shawl and wrap it around the infant. Jo hunts for some rags to stuff the windows, and finally ends up using the tray we carried the food on, to block the hole in the window. It looks so funny up there, but she teases Lotchen that she can use it for a mirror.
My stomach growls, but I hardly notice as the baby begins to whimper. I push to my feet and walk around, gently bouncing the baby and quietly singing. I take her to the window near the door, away from the noise of the other children. Just as I notice the puddle of melted snow on the floor, the door swings open with the wind and knocks into my head. I stumble back and slip in the icy water, hitting my shoulder and head against the wall. I cling to the baby and, for a moment, I can’t see.
Water seeps into my skirt, but I am so frighten that Gretchen is hurt, that I hardly notice.
"Ahren!" Lotchen screams, hurrying over and taking the squalling baby from me. "Be careful! Look what you did!"
That is the first time that I notice the boy. His hair is light brown and coated with ice and snow. His lashes are frozen and his face is red, but I can’t tell if it is from the cold or embarrassment.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He seems mortified and embarrassed and confused all at the same time. His arms were full of wet branches, and a few hunks of wood, and he hobbles to the fireplace to dump them.
I push myself to my feet, embarrassed that I had fallen, but mostly that I embarrass him and caused a problem.
"Are you all right?" Meg asks gently.
Mrs. Hummel sends a torrent of angry German words toward poor Ahren.
"It's all right," Marmee says. "It is the wind that knocks it back so far. No one is hurt."
Ahren sinks down near the fire in a small huddle, and I readjust my best skirt to hide its new tear.
"You'll be warmer if you take off that coat. You don’t want to be mistaken for a snowman!" Jo slaps Ahren on the shoulder in a boyish fashion, and he stares at her for a moment, before he mutely unwraps his scarf and fumbles with the buttons to his coat. Chunks of snow fall and his fingers are stiff and blue. I want to help him, but I think that will just embarrass.
Jo pulls off his coat and walks toward me to hang them up by the door with a wink. Ahren wears only one shirt and a pair of breeches, held up by two leather straps that serve for suspenders. The backside of his pants is so threadbare, that I can see the white of his shirt coming through. I blush and grab the orange from the table, and a cup of the cider to carry to him.
He hardly looks at me and, for a moment, I just stand there, holding the cup toward him as a peace offering. Finally, he reaches up and takes the cup, breathing a thank you. I step away, giving him room to drink and recuperate.
Meg is using the warmed water to clean the children's sticky little faces, now that their bellies are full, and probably aching from overeating. I glance back at Ahren, who stares into the fire and hadn't move since I left. I bite my lip, wondering if I hadn't embarrass him so much, if he will be feeling better and eating by now.
I pick up Gretchen again, and use the warm water to gently wipe her face, feeling a smile returning to my own. I sing softly, watching Ahren out of the corner of my eye as he flexes his fingers back and forth.
"Father's working in town," Mary says. "He's coming back in a few days."
Ahren glances up for the first time, and he takes a sip of the cider.
"He's going to bring me a doll," the girl continues.
"Who told you that?" Ahren frowns.
"Lotchen did."
"I say he might," Lotchen adds quickly. "We were just making believe, Mary. Remember?"
Ahren's face darkens for a moment, and he stares into his cup, as though he will find his answer inside of it. He can’t be much older than me, though he is so thin, that it looks like a breeze might blow him away.
For the next hour that we were there, I sing to the baby while the others clean up children and dishes. I still haven't given the orange to Ahren, and for some reason, I very much want to. Before it is time to go, I kiss the baby and return her to Mrs. Hummel. The door jams on the hinges, and Ahren throws his weight into it, finally knocking it free. Mother calls out that we will be back next week, Mrs. Hummel says good bye and dabs at her cheeks and the children call after us. I slip the orange into Ahren's hand. I want to say something, but nothing comes, and I blush furiously as he looks at the orange and then at me, as though he can’t understand why I would give him such a thing. I duck my head and hurry to Jo's side. No one saw it, and I am glad, for I suddenly feel very foolish.
Chapter Three
Of Knights and Fair Maidens
Several glass eyes stare back at me as I survey the dolls lined up on my bed. Some of them look curious, as if they know that this is no ordinary visit. They’re a strange collaboration: Meg's carefully combed, Jo's tattered and tangled despite my best efforts to nurse them back to health. I have even rescued some of Amy's, when she declared that she was too old for such things and threw them into the ragbag.
There are seven girls in the Hummel family - plus the baby, but she is too young for a doll just yet. Besides, I only have eight, and I don’t know if I can manage to part with all of them. I pick out Meg's dolls first, since they are in the best condition.
"Bree," I whisper, carefully setting aside the doll in the laciest dress. "Sarah." Sarah was a gift from Father. I hold her for a moment and set her onto the bed. Mary is next - Amy's china doll from Aunt March, back in the days when she still believed Father could make something of himself. Soon they are all laid out, except for Susan who stays on my bed. She is a little rag doll who belonged to Marmee when she was a girl, and she is special to me. I bite my lip and look between her and Sarah. One of them will have to go. I switched Sarah with Susan, but the rag doll looks so sad among the others, that I exchange them again.
"Beth!" Jo called up the stairs, "Hurry down! It's almost time."
I smile. Jo is so excited about her play. "I'll be back." I whisper to the dolls.
There is a great deal of bustle getting ready for the play. Costumes are donned, props are gathered, placed, broken, re-gathered and replaced. The curtain is hung in the attic, where the play is to take place. It is not going to be very big - only Marmee and Hannah.
Perhaps that is why I am so surprised when I hear a boy's voice. I peek from behind the curtain, and I’m quite sure my heart misses a beat. Marmee is talking to the Laurence boy. He sits down on the folded up bed next to Marmee, looking all arms and legs, and I scurry in the other room.
"The Laurence boy is here!" I whisper fiercely to Jo.
"What!" Meg's eyes widen.
Jo's eyes sparkle and she fondly calls Marmee a "brick" for inviting him. Amy and Meg nearly mutiny, saying it is "childish" and "improper," and I can’t say anything at all, because my stomach is churning.
In the end, it is hastily decided by Jo and forced onto the rest of us that "the show must go on.
And it does. Amy is the fair princess and Meg plays her strict father. Jo flies about, changing hats to play both the villain and the hero. I portray Amy's servant, and then a kind monk with one line, and finally the angel that comes to take the poor princess away after the villain kills her and her hero laments her loss. Jo has written me a splendid monologue about virtue and grace, and I know it by heart. But I catch sight of the Laurence boy who’s grinning like he’s enjoying a great joke, and suddenly I can’t remember any of it, except for the last line. "Come away with me to the heavens where bliss awaits." I choke it out and nearly drag Amy toward the door. The Laurence boy laughed outright, and Marmee tries not to, and Amy becomes upset at being treated like a ragdoll and stands up, catching her costume on the castle tower. It crashes down on top of us.
Amy lands on my chest and knocks my breath out, her hair falling into my mouth, but still managed to time it to where her face looks out the back of the castle window up at the ceiling. Jo and the Laurence boy lift it off of us, and if that isn't enough excitement, the trundle bed chooses that moment to snap shut, swallowing Hannah alive. Jo and Marmee fly to her rescue, and I feel a strong hand grab mine and pull me to my feet.
"That's quite a heaven, little angel," the black-haired boy teases.
"That," cries Jo, wiping away tears of laughter, "is the absolute worse play I have ever put on." Her words choked off into laughter and soon the rest of them are laughing as well.
"And that," says the Laurence boy, "is the best play that I have ever seen."
Another time I might be laughing too, but the boy still has my hand, and my face is heating.
Jo rescued me. "Well, Mr. Laurence."
"Laurie," the boy corrects.
An amused smile lights up Jo's face, and I wish that I could be as comfortable with people as she is. "Laurie Laurence? That is quite a name."
Laurie only grins more, "Well, it's actually Theodore, but I hate it. The boys at school called me "Dora," so I made them call me Laurie instead."
"I wish I could make Aunt March call me Jo instead of Josephine. How did you do it?"
"I thrashed them." Laurie says so calmly that Meg's eyes widen in surprise.
Jo laughs outright, and Hannah steps into the room, "If the young ladies will be pleased to come down, we have a treat for them downstairs," She turns away, mumbling under her breath, "Or several."
"What is it?" Amy jumps over the fallen tower and rushes down the stairs, forgetting that she is "grown up."
"Laurie?" Jo's eyes sparkle. "You wouldn’t hit a girl, will you?"
"Of course not!"
"Good!" Jo takes his arm, "Then I'm going to call you Teddy."
"Oh Jo! Beth!" Amy's ecstatic voice distracts me from Laurie's surprised face, "Come see! There's ice cream and cake and bonbons and . . . and. . . ." She fades off, apparently overwhelmed by happiness of whatever else there is.
Jo sends a surprised look toward Laurie, who tries to look innocent, and the two rush down the stairs together. I stand alone in the attic, surrounded by the remains of Jo's fairytale, wondering what is happening, but afraid to go. I have met twelve new people today, and it is far too much to handle.
I sit on the bed, wondering if it will close on me too, and wait for my hands to stop trembling. Happy chatter and cries of delight floats up, and I smile, feeling special to have this family and to live in this house and for everything else. I have so much. I know better now than ever, after visiting the Hummels, and I quietly vow never to complain again.
"Where's Beth?" I heard Jo's voice as she finally realizes I am not down there.
I stand up and take a breath. It is time to grow up. It is time to be brave. After all, it is only one boy. That thought makes my heart stop, but I try to ignore it as I pick up my skirt and step onto the top step. "I'm here!"
On a normal night, Jo might be depressed at the failure of her play, but she is more interested in Laurie - or Teddy, as she laughingly calls him all night. Amy's attention is focused on the ice cream at the beginning, but soon she grows bold and full enough, to sit in the chair near the sofa where Laurie tells Jo about Italy and what it is like to live there. Meg disappears upstairs to take out her hair ribbons and erase all traces of the play, while Jo seems to forget that she has drawn a mustache above her lips, and Laurie remains too polite to mention it.
I stay busy with Hannah until Laurie speaks about the opera in Italy. I want so badly to hear what it is like that I crawl into my corner by the fire and keep myself busy knitting socks for Father so that I won’t have to look at him.
I feel like Christian from Pilgrim's Progress after he struggles so hard and arrives at the house Beautiful.
The next day, however, I decide that it must have really been Vanity Fair, for Jo is too busy plotting ways to see Laurie again to clean up the mess from her play, Meg has decided she is becoming too old to act anymore, and Amy has eaten so many sweets the night before that she moans over a horrible stomach ache and snaps at everyone.
Jo has often said that she envies my temper, and that I have the patience of a saint, but I don’t really. When Meg announces her retirement to Jo, and Jo panics asking who will act the lady's part, Amy suggests that Laurie could do the men and Jo could do the lady's part. I try to calm them before it turns into an argument, but Amy snaps at me, and Jo turns onto her. After Marmee rather forcefully calms the storm, I take my basket of dolls and slip out the door. No one think anything of it, since I often take the dolls for a walk.
My boots crunch through the snow, and I count steps to avoid thinking about where I am going. My feet soon grew cold and wet, and I look back over my dolls, all staring up curiously at me. I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I glance back at the house, before rounding the corner. Jo is throwing snowballs at Laurie's window. I am glad that she had a new friend, although thinking about him makes a strange, burning feeling in my chest.
The Hummel's miserable house comes into view before I am ready for it to, and I stop. The silver platter is still over the window, and I can hear the baby crying. I had intended to leave the dolls on the steps and run away before they saw me but the boy, Ahren, is out with Mary, who wanted the doll. They are building a snowman. Mary wears Marmee's shawl over her shoulders, but Ahren has nothing, except the same clothing he had yesterday.
Mary runs toward the edge of the woods. A change comes over Ahren’s face where pain replaces his smile. He blows on stiff fists, but the moment Mary turns back toward him, the look is gone, and he seems as jolly as ever.
The girl calls out something in German, and the only word I understand is "Ahren." Waving a stick, Mary runs back to the snowman to jab it into the body of the snowball.
"Ahren!" Lotchen screams from the door. "Where's Mary?"
"She's here with me," Ahren calls back.
"Mother wants her to come in. She shouldn't be out in the cold."
"I want to be outside!" Mary protests.
"I don’t care," Lotchen yells back. "You must come back in! You'll become ill!"
"Ahren!" Mary turns back to him and reverts back to German, pleading with him. He shakes his head, and she blows a breath, dragging her feet on the way back onto the porch.
Mrs. Hummel appears in the door, looking worn and ill. "Ahren!" Her German words make her sound angry, but I think she is only tired. Ahren sighs and pulls the stick from the snowman, leaving it armless and faceless, and hurries into the house. The door shuts.
It only takes a moment for me to set the basket down near the door and step back, but the door opens before I can run away. Ahren nearly stumbles over the basket, and I grab it as it falls from the step and dumps the dolls.
He stars at it and at me. I look away, thinking of dropping the basket and running.
Neither of us can say anything, and it isn't until his mother calls that he left the door opened, that he shuts it.
"I . . ." my mouth had gone dry, and I suddenly wondered why in the world I came. I thrust the basket toward him. "I … brought your sisters…"
He stares at me, as though I am offering a chest full of gold and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Wordlessly, he opens the door and clumsily ushers me in.
Mary doesn’t give me time to feel awkward. She stares at Sarah. "Is that . . . are those for us?"
I nod and extend the doll. The entire house is quiet, except for the baby, who squeals. Mary steps slowly up and takes the doll, brushing the white lace with her fingers. "She's..." Her word is lost in the breath that leaves her, and I smile, glad that I came. The next moment I am swarmed by eager hands all reaching up for a doll. I pass them out, unsure of who gets whom, but it doesn’t really matter. The little girls squeal, Lotchen looks a bit uneasy, and Ahren smiles just a little. Mary sinks down, staring at the doll and stroking her face. Not all of the children are so gentle with theirs, and I turn away as one of the little ones clutches happily onto Anne, until I think she will tear the doll's head off.
"I – have to go," I stutter. Mary's face is worth all of the dolls together, but I have no desire to watch any of them be torn up by eagerness. "I must go home."
Ahren kicks the door back open for me, and I step toward onto the porch. Arms encircled my legs, and I glance down where the five-year-old smiles up at me. I stroked her hair. She hugs Anne and bites her lip, swaying her body eagerly back and forth.
Ahren steps outside and I follow. He seemed to take an extra long time shutting the door, for the children is gone, and the uneasiness has returned. I whisper ‘goodbye’ and hurry away.
A light snow has already filled my tracks, but I try to step in them on the way back. I am not very far from the Hummels, when I hear my name.
Ahren had followed me. His steps slow as he comes near, and he glances all around me and down at the faded ribbon in his hand.
He looks absolutely terrified for a moment, before he forced himself to make eye contact, his pupils flickering as if they’re unaccustomed to the act. "This is for you." His accent comes out so heavily, for a moment, I think that he is speaking German. Faded and frayed, a blue ribbon dangles between us.
I reach for the gift. "Thank you."
My hand brushes his and my cheeks burn. He swallows and his mouth opens, but he says nothing. Nodding, he turns to hurry away, sticking his hands into his pockets to keep them warm.
I hold the ribbon, wondering where he had gotten it, and why he has given it to me. My mind spins. This is silly. I shouldn't feel so flustered. Jo always writes about heroines, whose heart pound and swoon at a prince's eyes. But they were in love. I am just shy. Still, I stroke the ribbon and slip it into my pocket, thinking that Ahren has very pretty blue eyes. Somewhere I hope that perhaps, perhaps I can see him again and we can be friends - like Jo is with Laurie.
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