29
AN ENGAGEMENT PARTY
As it happened, Laurie wrote to Jo first, requesting her presence at a gathering of friends and family in Boston “to celebrate our engagement,” he wrote. Himself and Harriet, he meant, and a small part of Jo mourned, remembering when the word “our” would have included her.
By then Amy was out of bed and puttering around the house more and more, helping Mama with her own small chores and beginning her lessons again. She’d done such a good job with the invitations that Jo gave her high marks for penmanship, something she’d never done before. So Jo’s presence was not as needed at home as it had been of late, but still she hesitated, not certain if she wanted to go.
If she should. Could she bear it?
Mama, who seemed always to understand Jo better than Jo understood herself, took the letter from Jo’s hands and looked at Laurie’s handwriting. It would mean so much if you were there, Mr. Snodgrass, she read.
She gave Jo back the letter and said, “You should go. You will never forgive yourself if you don’t.”
“But I don’t much like Harriet. Mama, you should have heard her in New York. The snobbery was thick as molasses.”
“You like Laurie,” Mama said. “He’s your friend. And you might not get many more opportunities to see him, if they do plan on living in England.”
Jo made a noise of frustration and sank down on the sofa. “Fine. But I’m only doing this for his sake.”
Mama turned to Meg, who was practically squirming while she braided Amy’s hair. “What about you? I’m sure you’d see John while you were there, as he is sure to be invited as well. And your sister will need a traveling companion.”
“Oh, Mama, may I?” Meg asked.
“Of course you may. Send word to Laurie as soon as you can, and Hannah and I will get your trunks.”
A FEW DAYS later, the two sisters made the short trip by train to Boston, where Laurie and Brooke met them at the station in the Laurences’ carriage. Jo had been nearly certain Harriet would be with them, though she was not. “You’ll see her later,” Laurie said. “Right now I’m glad it’s the four of us together, just like we were in New York.”
Jo was surprised but relieved. A few minutes without Lady Hat would be like old times—not just New York, but all the times they were together in Concord at picnics, in ponds. In the attic garret of Orchard House, playing out their small dramas on a homemade stage.
All at once the time stretched and telescoped. They weren’t children anymore. They were adults, or nearly so. Everything would change. They would never again be as they were right now: four young people who knew each other’s secrets. Who knew each other so well, they could finish each other’s sentences.
But while Jo was afraid she might weep, Meg was so thrilled to be reunited with Brooke that she threw her arms around his neck in full view of everyone at the station, forgetting propriety completely.
“I’m glad to see you, too, my love.” Brooke gently extricated himself from Meg’s embrace while Laurie and Jo laughed.
Meg turned pink and straightened out her dress. All around them, people were staring.
“Get ahold of yourself, Meg,” said Jo. “I thought I was the improper one in the family. We can’t all be scandalous, now, can we?”
Laurie was nearly doubled over with laughter. “That’s a sight I’ll never forget,” he said. “But love makes fools of all of us, I suppose. Should we head home before we’re all arrested?”
“Good idea,” said Jo, and they all piled into the carriage.
She was gratified to see her sister and Brooke reunited, but Jo had to admit to herself, as they drove through the pouring rain, that this visit was not something she was relishing. To meet Lady Hat again—to watch her preen and fuss over Laurie, to claim him, to fold him into her family like just another of her wealthy possessions—would be one of the hardest things she’d ever had to witness.
But she was here for Laurie, because he was her dearest friend, and would always be. For the sake of their friendship, which she had not given up on yet.
Meg kept her arm in Brooke’s all through the ride and said very little. Brooke was quiet, as always, but Jo and Laurie chatted about any number of things: Amy’s improving health. Laurie’s classes, which he was still neglecting, to his peril. Harriet’s mother inviting most of the Manhattan social register to the wedding.
“What about your sequel?” he asked Jo. “Have you given it up for good? When we were in Concord, you seemed to hint that you had.”
Jo looked at Meg and Brooke, her sister’s hand curled around Brooke’s upper arm. “I might have started working on it again.”
“Oh?” Laurie asked. “What scenes have you written?”
“Preparations for a wedding,” she said, and gave Meg a wicked grin. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s all in excellent taste, I promise.”
“And me?” Laurie asked. “Am I in this one?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Perhaps I shall make you turn pirate.”
Brooke smiled at them both. “What makes you think he isn’t one already?”
They all had a good laugh, but for Jo it was still tinged with sadness. Everything was ending; she could feel it. Soon, Meg would move from Orchard House into a home of her own. But at least the newlyweds had decided to stay in Concord. Brooke would move to their little hamlet for good, giving up his pupils in Boston.
When they pulled up in front of the house, Mr. Laurence himself came to the door to greet them, holding out an umbrella so the girls could dash into the house. “My dear girls, welcome to Boston!”
“Hello!” cried Meg, while Jo said, “We thought you were leaving for London on the last boat. Have you decided to stay the winter?”
“I have, to help with the wedding planning,” he said, ushering them inside. “We will all journey over together next year, when the weather breaks.”
“Thank you so much for having us,” said Meg, gently taking the old man’s hand. “You’re always too kind!”
“It wouldn’t be a proper engagement party without some Marches,” said Mr. Laurence. “The two of you are a welcome reminder of home.”
For just a minute, under the umbrella, Jo met Laurie’s eyes, and she felt the current between them that was always there, even if it was slightly removed for once.
It was clear Laurie was happy. He was content, and he was back to being her friend again instead of a jilted lover. After the terrible disagreement they’d had at the end of their New York trip, and later her painful refusal of his offer of marriage, she was relieved to find that he had regained his sense of humor. He was able to be kind, because he had found his bride, even if it wasn’t her.
She was determined to be happy for him.
She would.
TWO NIGHTS LATER, the Laurence house was a splendor. Though never as grand as the Carmichaels’ Manhattan manse, it was still a large, well-built brick house with fine drawing-rooms and dining-rooms filled with the creamy light of hundreds of candles, the smell of beef and lobster, the tang of good French wine.
Upstairs, the March girls were helping each other dress for the party—Meg in one of her pretty silks, Jo in one of Meg’s old plaid dresses. “Like you’re ready for the hunt,” Laurie said when he saw her. “A Scottish lass in the heather.” And he kissed her once on the cheek, warmly.
As he would a sister, Jo thought. She tried to think nothing else about it, but the warmth of his lips had left her fizzing, if only for a moment.
Downstairs, they were still setting candles and flowers around the room when there was a noise at the door, a clattering of umbrellas, shoes, and door hinges.
“Oh, you wicked, wicked girls!” Harriet exclaimed, practically flying at them. “Why did you not come to me immediately on arriving in Boston? I can’t believe Laurie and Brooke have been hoarding you for two days already. I only just learned of your arrival.”
Harriet and her mother were staying at a hotel, as was proper. After the engagement party in Boston, they would journey with the Laurences to New York for another engagement party there.
Jo and Meg rose to their feet, alarmed at the cacophony of colors and noise that Harriet brought wherever she went. “Hello, Lady Harriet—” Jo began, but Harriet rushed on, “Mother and I were so desolate that you didn’t come to see us right away. I told you, you must come to see me whenever you come to Boston.”
She had never said any such thing, especially since she usually lived in New York, but Meg only said, “It’s good to see you again, Lady Harriet.”
“Please, call me Hat. We’re practically family,” she said.
“Yes, of course,” said Meg. “It’s good to see you . . . Hat.”
Harriet was being entirely disingenuous. All this nonsense about practically being family, when a month ago Harriet had been envious of Meg to the point of turning green! What rot. Jo couldn’t help needling her, and by extension Laurie, just a bit. “I’m afraid we’re not in the uppertens,” she said. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Oh, of course!” she gushed. “Mother might object, but I never would. A woman of the people, that’s me.”
Jo met Laurie’s eyes. He looked amused, and at Harriet’s expense, since a Carmichael-Carlthorpe never was and never would be a woman of the people. Jo was reminded yet again that it was unlikely they’d see much of each other after this, and so she only had to endure Harriet’s snobbery for a few days. For Laurie, she would remember her manners.
“Very republican of you,” said Laurie.
Jo grinned. “Yes, the manners of the country must be rubbing off on you. Next thing you know, you’ll be swimming in mud-holes like we used to.”
“Laurie!” said Lady Hat. “You swam in mud-holes? With Miss March?”
“In my defense, it was very hot that day.”
“Scandal!” said Harriet, and took him by the arm. “I suppose I will have to civilize you, after all.”
“If you can,” Brooke said. “I found that prospect rather difficult myself. Some people resist all efforts at civilizing.”
“Perhaps you should have tried harder.” Harriet looked over Brooke coolly. Apparently there were still hard feelings, at least on Harriet’s side. Meg either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Then Harriet and her mother moved closer to the fire to get warm, and Jo leaned over to Laurie to whisper, “Who will be civilizing whom, I wonder?”
“Jo. Behave yourself.”
“I always do, Teddy. I’m not sure your fiancée realizes that. We lower classes do have some manners, after all.”
“Please, Jo. If you just tried to get to know her, I’m sure you’d find she’s not . . . half-bad.”
“Such high praise. No wonder you want to marry her. Or was it her . . . other attributes that attracted you?”
“Other attributes? Mainly that she wasn’t you?”
“Of course she isn’t me. Teddy, you’re better off without me. Surely now even you realize it.”
“I do, Jo. You were right. We’ve both found where we belong.” He turned and looked at Harriet, who gave him a sly, private smile.
We have, thought Jo. Finally, we both have.
Even if it was not a place anyone would have expected.
The guests arrived, and Laurie and Harriet greeted them with grace and enthusiasm. As the party went on, the guests laughed and danced and drank toasts to Laurie and Harriet. In the midst of them all, Jo smiled and laughed and danced with her best friend as if it were for the last time. Perhaps it would be.
Tomorrow they would return home. Meg and Brooke would soon be married. And Jo would have her books, her writing, her family.
It was all she ever wanted. That would be enough.
It would have to be.