บทที่ บทที่ 15 · A TELEGRAM

. A TELEGRAM

“November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year,” said

Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the

frostbitten garden.

“That’s the reason I was born in it,” observed Jo pensively, quite

unconscious of the blot on her nose.

“If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a

delightful month,” said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything,

even November.

“I dare say, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family,”

said Meg, who was out of sorts. “We go grubbing along day after day,

without a bit of change, and very little fun. We might as well be in a

treadmill.”

“My patience, how blue we are!” cried Jo. “I don’t much wonder, poor

dear, for you see other girls having splendid times, while you grind,

grind, year in and year out. Oh, don’t I wish I could manage things for

you as I do for my heroines! You’re pretty enough and good enough

already, so I’d have some rich relation leave you a fortune

unexpectedly. Then you’d dash out as an heiress, scorn everyone who has

slighted you, go abroad, and come home my Lady Something in a blaze of

splendor and elegance.”

“People don’t have fortunes left them in that style nowadays, men have

to work and women marry for money. It’s a dreadfully unjust world,”

said Meg bitterly.

“Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all. Just wait ten years,

and see if we don’t,” said Amy, who sat in a corner making mud pies, as

Hannah called her little clay models of birds, fruit, and faces.

“Can’t wait, and I’m afraid I haven’t much faith in ink and dirt,

though I’m grateful for your good intentions.”

Meg sighed, and turned to the frostbitten garden again. Jo groaned and

leaned both elbows on the table in a despondent attitude, but Amy

spatted away energetically, and Beth, who sat at the other window,

said, smiling, “Two pleasant things are going to happen right away.

Marmee is coming down the street, and Laurie is tramping through the

garden as if he had something nice to tell.”

In they both came, Mrs. March with her usual question, “Any letter from

Father, girls?” and Laurie to say in his persuasive way, “Won’t some of

you come for a drive? I’ve been working away at mathematics till my

head is in a muddle, and I’m going to freshen my wits by a brisk turn.

It’s a dull day, but the air isn’t bad, and I’m going to take Brooke

home, so it will be gay inside, if it isn’t out. Come, Jo, you and Beth

will go, won’t you?”

“Of course we will.”

“Much obliged, but I’m busy.” And Meg whisked out her workbasket, for

she had agreed with her mother that it was best, for her at least, not

to drive too often with the young gentleman.

“We three will be ready in a minute,” cried Amy, running away to wash

her hands.

“Can I do anything for you, Madam Mother?” asked Laurie, leaning over

Mrs. March’s chair with the affectionate look and tone he always gave

her.

“No, thank you, except call at the office, if you’ll be so kind, dear.

It’s our day for a letter, and the postman hasn’t been. Father is as

regular as the sun, but there’s some delay on the way, perhaps.”

A sharp ring interrupted her, and a minute after Hannah came in with a

letter.

“It’s one of them horrid telegraph things, mum,” she said, handling it

as if she was afraid it would explode and do some damage.

At the word ‘telegraph’, Mrs. March snatched it, read the two lines it

contained, and dropped back into her chair as white as if the little

paper had sent a bullet to her heart. Laurie dashed downstairs for

water, while Meg and Hannah supported her, and Jo read aloud, in a

frightened voice...

Mrs. March:

Your husband is very ill. Come at once.

S. HALE

Blank Hospital, Washington.

How still the room was as they listened breathlessly, how strangely the

day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed to

change, as the girls gathered about their mother, feeling as if all the

happiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them.

Mrs. March was herself again directly, read the message over, and

stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, in a tone they never

forgot, “I shall go at once, but it may be too late. Oh, children,

children, help me to bear it!”

For several minutes there was nothing but the sound of sobbing in the

room, mingled with broken words of comfort, tender assurances of help,

and hopeful whispers that died away in tears. Poor Hannah was the first

to recover, and with unconscious wisdom she set all the rest a good

example, for with her, work was panacea for most afflictions.

“The Lord keep the dear man! I won’t waste no time a-cryin’, but git

your things ready right away, mum,” she said heartily, as she wiped her

face on her apron, gave her mistress a warm shake of the hand with her

own hard one, and went away to work like three women in one.

“She’s right, there’s no time for tears now. Be calm, girls, and let me

think.”

They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking

pale but steady, and put away her grief to think and plan for them.

“Where’s Laurie?” she asked presently, when she had collected her

thoughts and decided on the first duties to be done.

“Here, ma’am. Oh, let me do something!” cried the boy, hurrying from

the next room whither he had withdrawn, feeling that their first sorrow

was too sacred for even his friendly eyes to see.

“Send a telegram saying I will come at once. The next train goes early

in the morning. I’ll take that.”

“What else? The horses are ready. I can go anywhere, do anything,” he

said, looking ready to fly to the ends of the earth.

“Leave a note at Aunt March’s. Jo, give me that pen and paper.”

Tearing off the blank side of one of her newly copied pages, Jo drew

the table before her mother, well knowing that money for the long, sad

journey must be borrowed, and feeling as if she could do anything to

add a little to the sum for her father.

“Now go, dear, but don’t kill yourself driving at a desperate pace.

There is no need of that.”

Mrs. March’s warning was evidently thrown away, for five minutes later

Laurie tore by the window on his own fleet horse, riding as if for his

life.

“Jo, run to the rooms, and tell Mrs. King that I can’t come. On the way

get these things. I’ll put them down, they’ll be needed and I must go

prepared for nursing. Hospital stores are not always good. Beth, go and

ask Mr. Laurence for a couple of bottles of old wine. I’m not too proud

to beg for Father. He shall have the best of everything. Amy, tell

Hannah to get down the black trunk, and Meg, come and help me find my

things, for I’m half bewildered.”

Writing, thinking, and directing all at once might well bewilder the

poor lady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a little

while, and let them work. Everyone scattered like leaves before a gust

of wind, and the quiet, happy household was broken up as suddenly as if

the paper had been an evil spell.

Mr. Laurence came hurrying back with Beth, bringing every comfort the

kind old gentleman could think of for the invalid, and friendliest

promises of protection for the girls during the mother’s absence, which

comforted her very much. There was nothing he didn’t offer, from his

own dressing gown to himself as escort. But the last was impossible.

Mrs. March would not hear of the old gentleman’s undertaking the long

journey, yet an expression of relief was visible when he spoke of it,

for anxiety ill fits one for traveling. He saw the look, knit his heavy

eyebrows, rubbed his hands, and marched abruptly away, saying he’d be

back directly. No one had time to think of him again till, as Meg ran

through the entry, with a pair of rubbers in one hand and a cup of tea

in the other, she came suddenly upon Mr. Brooke.

“I’m very sorry to hear of this, Miss March,” he said, in the kind,

quiet tone which sounded very pleasantly to her perturbed spirit. “I

came to offer myself as escort to your mother. Mr. Laurence has

commissions for me in Washington, and it will give me real satisfaction

to be of service to her there.”

Down dropped the rubbers, and the tea was very near following, as Meg

put out her hand, with a face so full of gratitude that Mr. Brooke

would have felt repaid for a much greater sacrifice than the trifling

one of time and comfort which he was about to take.

“How kind you all are! Mother will accept, I’m sure, and it will be

such a relief to know that she has someone to take care of her. Thank

you very, very much!”

Meg spoke earnestly, and forgot herself entirely till something in the

brown eyes looking down at her made her remember the cooling tea, and

lead the way into the parlor, saying she would call her mother.

Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note from

Aunt March, enclosing the desired sum, and a few lines repeating what

she had often said before, that she had always told them it was absurd

for March to go into the army, always predicted that no good would come

of it, and she hoped they would take her advice the next time. Mrs.

March put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on

with her preparations, with her lips folded tightly in a way which Jo

would have understood if she had been there.

The short afternoon wore away. All other errands were done, and Meg and

her mother busy at some necessary needlework, while Beth and Amy got

tea, and Hannah finished her ironing with what she called a ‘slap and a

bang’, but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious, and Laurie

went off to find her, for no one knew what freak Jo might take into her

head. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with a very queer

expression of countenance, for there was a mixture of fun and fear,

satisfaction and regret in it, which puzzled the family as much as did

the roll of bills she laid before her mother, saying with a little

choke in her voice, “That’s my contribution toward making Father

comfortable and bringing him home!”

“My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars! Jo, I hope you

haven’t done anything rash?”

“No, it’s mine honestly. I didn’t beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned

it, and I don’t think you’ll blame me, for I only sold what was my

own.”

As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for

all her abundant hair was cut short.

“Your hair! Your beautiful hair!” “Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one

beauty.” “My dear girl, there was no need of this.” “She doesn’t look

like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!”

As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Jo

assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle,

and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked

it, “It doesn’t affect the fate of the nation, so don’t wail, Beth. It

will be good for my vanity, I was getting too proud of my wig. It will

do my brains good to have that mop taken off. My head feels deliciously

light and cool, and the barber said I could soon have a curly crop,

which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order. I’m

satisfied, so please take the money and let’s have supper.”

“Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can’t blame

you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call

it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I’m afraid

you will regret it one of these days,” said Mrs. March.

“No, I won’t!” returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that her

prank was not entirely condemned.

“What made you do it?” asked Amy, who would as soon have thought of

cutting off her head as her pretty hair.

“Well, I was wild to do something for Father,” replied Jo, as they

gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even in the

midst of trouble. “I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knew

Aunt March would croak, she always does, if you ask for a ninepence.

Meg gave all her quarterly salary toward the rent, and I only got some

clothes with mine, so I felt wicked, and was bound to have some money,

if I sold the nose off my face to get it.”

“You needn’t feel wicked, my child! You had no winter things and got

the simplest with your own hard earnings,” said Mrs. March with a look

that warmed Jo’s heart.

“I hadn’t the least idea of selling my hair at first, but as I went

along I kept thinking what I could do, and feeling as if I’d like to

dive into some of the rich stores and help myself. In a barber’s window

I saw tails of hair with the prices marked, and one black tail, not so

thick as mine, was forty dollars. It came to me all of a sudden that I

had one thing to make money out of, and without stopping to think, I

walked in, asked if they bought hair, and what they would give for

mine.”

“I don’t see how you dared to do it,” said Beth in a tone of awe.

“Oh, he was a little man who looked as if he merely lived to oil his

hair. He rather stared at first, as if he wasn’t used to having girls

bounce into his shop and ask him to buy their hair. He said he didn’t

care about mine, it wasn’t the fashionable color, and he never paid

much for it in the first place. The work put into it made it dear, and

so on. It was getting late, and I was afraid if it wasn’t done right

away that I shouldn’t have it done at all, and you know when I start to

do a thing, I hate to give it up. So I begged him to take it, and told

him why I was in such a hurry. It was silly, I dare say, but it changed

his mind, for I got rather excited, and told the story in my

topsy-turvy way, and his wife heard, and said so kindly, ‘Take it,

Thomas, and oblige the young lady. I’d do as much for our Jimmy any day

if I had a spire of hair worth selling.”

“Who was Jimmy?” asked Amy, who liked to have things explained as they

went along.

“Her son, she said, who was in the army. How friendly such things make

strangers feel, don’t they? She talked away all the time the man

clipped, and diverted my mind nicely.”

“Didn’t you feel dreadfully when the first cut came?” asked Meg, with a

shiver.

“I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that

was the end of it. I never snivel over trifles like that. I will

confess, though, I felt queer when I saw the dear old hair laid out on

the table, and felt only the short rough ends of my head. It almost

seemed as if I’d an arm or leg off. The woman saw me look at it, and

picked out a long lock for me to keep. I’ll give it to you, Marmee,

just to remember past glories by, for a crop is so comfortable I don’t

think I shall ever have a mane again.”

Mrs. March folded the wavy chestnut lock, and laid it away with a short

gray one in her desk. She only said, “Thank you, deary,” but something

in her face made the girls change the subject, and talk as cheerfully

as they could about Mr. Brooke’s kindness, the prospect of a fine day

tomorrow, and the happy times they would have when Father came home to

be nursed.

No one wanted to go to bed when at ten o’clock Mrs. March put by the

last finished job, and said, “Come girls.” Beth went to the piano and

played the father’s favorite hymn. All began bravely, but broke down

one by one till Beth was left alone, singing with all her heart, for to

her music was always a sweet consoler.

“Go to bed and don’t talk, for we must be up early and shall need all

the sleep we can get. Good night, my darlings,” said Mrs. March, as the

hymn ended, for no one cared to try another.

They kissed her quietly, and went to bed as silently as if the dear

invalid lay in the next room. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep in spite of

the great trouble, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious

thoughts she had ever known in her short life. Jo lay motionless, and

her sister fancied that she was asleep, till a stifled sob made her

exclaim, as she touched a wet cheek...

“Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about father?”

“No, not now.”

“What then?”

“My... My hair!” burst out poor Jo, trying vainly to smother her

emotion in the pillow.

It did not seem at all comical to Meg, who kissed and caressed the

afflicted heroine in the tenderest manner.

“I’m not sorry,” protested Jo, with a choke. “I’d do it again tomorrow,

if I could. It’s only the vain part of me that goes and cries in this

silly way. Don’t tell anyone, it’s all over now. I thought you were

asleep, so I just made a little private moan for my one beauty. How

came you to be awake?”

“I can’t sleep, I’m so anxious,” said Meg.

“Think about something pleasant, and you’ll soon drop off.”

“I tried it, but felt wider awake than ever.”

“What did you think of?”

“Handsome faces—eyes particularly,” answered Meg, smiling to herself in

the dark.

“What color do you like best?”

“Brown, that is, sometimes. Blue are lovely.”

Jo laughed, and Meg sharply ordered her not to talk, then amiably

promised to make her hair curl, and fell asleep to dream of living in

her castle in the air.

The clocks were striking midnight and the rooms were very still as a

figure glided quietly from bed to bed, smoothing a coverlet here,

settling a pillow there, and pausing to look long and tenderly at each

unconscious face, to kiss each with lips that mutely blessed, and to

pray the fervent prayers which only mothers utter. As she lifted the

curtain to look out into the dreary night, the moon broke suddenly from

behind the clouds and shone upon her like a bright, benignant face,

which seemed to whisper in the silence, “Be comforted, dear soul! There

is always light behind the clouds.”