there must be something beyond introducing wack into the vocabulary. Surely there must be some reason for all this, some higher purpose.
Was it really all about saving Beth?
Beth must have made quite an impression on the old man and he on her. So grateful was she about him letting her play the piano, she sewed him a pair of slippers as a thank-you in record time, calling on us sisters to help. The slippers had pansies on a deeper purple background, leaving the old man so touched, he sent her a little cabinet piano of her very own with brackets to hold candles, green silk with a gold rose in the middle covering the flat top, a perfect little rack and stool. It came with a note from Mr. James Laurence to Miss Elizabeth March, saying the piano had belonged to his granddaughter, whom he’d lost.
He’d lost a son and a granddaughter? How sad!
But I stopped being sad when Beth began to play. It was just wonderful to see how happy she was now.
Wednesday night turned into Thursday turned into breakfast on Friday.
Jo (trying to appear casual): “So, Emily, how do you plan to spend your day of leisure?”
Me (trying to appear equally casual, but failing): “I thought I might go over to the Laurence place for a bit this morning.”
Jo (with ill grace): “Harrumph.”
No sooner did my sisters head out the door to their various destinations than I was out the door myself and across the grounds to the Laurence estate like a light. I was so excited to be on my first solo visit to him, but not so excited that I forgot to remind myself that the hedge separating our properties was taller than it looked.
Laurie looked only mildly surprised to see me on my own.
“Ah, yes,” he said, finally opening the door wider so that I might enter, “I remember now your saying you could come on Fridays.”
Then, remembering his manners, he bowed at the waist and greeted me with, “Dude.”
“Dude,” I returned with a slight curtsy.
He had fully recovered from his cold and asked me to walk in the conservatory with him.
“I like your family very much,” he said, strolling with his hands clasped behind his back. “Your mother is a capital woman.”
“Capital,” I echoed, feeling dumb.
“And your sister Meg, such patience she has with everybody.”
“Patience.”
“And then there’s Jo.” He laughed. “Jo can be quite overwhelming.”
“Overwhelming.”
“Amy is so funny about her nose. I don’t imagine anyone but her sees anything wrong with it.”
“Nose.”
“And dear Beth. Was there ever a kinder, gentler girl in the world?”
“George H. W. Bush.” In a speech, he’d once referred to “a kinder and gentler nation.” What can I say? We’d studied sayings of the presidents in American history class.
“Pardon me?” That brought him up short.
“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I was just free-associating for a moment there.”
“Free-associating?” He looked puzzled. “Is that another word you invented, like wack and dude?”
I ignored the question. “I’m glad you find so much to admire in each of my sisters,” I said, “but isn’t there someone you’ve left out?”
“Left out?” He continued being puzzled. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe there is anyone else.”
This wouldn’t do.
“Me?” I finally said, coming straight out with it. “Don’t you have any admiring things to say about me?”
He laughed then. “Why, of course! You’re the middle March, and may I say, you do a capital job of it!”
Harrumph!
No, this really would not do.
Didn’t he feel the same attraction for me that I felt toward him? He had to!
I decided to test my hypothesis. I placed my hands on the sides of his face and pulled his head toward mine, closing the space between us.
“Miss March!” he cried, just prior to my lips touching his.
I can’t say it was the most satisfying kiss in the history of the universe. There were no sparks of electricity, no stomach butterflies, and when I tried to slip him some tongue, all I was met with was a firmly closed mouth.
“Miss March!” he cried again, extricating himself from my grasp and taking a full leap backward.
“Emily,” I corrected.
“Very well. Emily. I do not know what came over you, but I am no longer certain your Friday visits are such a good idea.”
I just looked at him, curious. He may not have returned my kiss, but I was somehow sure he hadn’t totally hated it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gaining control over his innate good manners when I remained silent. Perhaps he thought