remember, the March family had never been real. They were merely a figment of Louisa May Alcott’s imagination.
Then what? What exactly had happened to me? All I knew was that I had to get out of here. I had to get back to my normal life—the one where there were no granny nightgowns in my wardrobe and people didn’t say “shall.”
But how? How?
Then it struck me. Ever since this “dream” had started, I’d been inside the house. Inside the house. That was it! If I could only get outside again, things would reset and I’d wake up.
I threw off the sheets and blankets, not minding a bit about the cold in spite of my thin white granny nightgown and hairy legs—I’d peeked the night before as I’d climbed into bed.
I heard a woman humming and followed the sound to an old-fashioned-looking kitchen. It reminded me of a class trip we’d taken to Sturbridge Village, what with all the antiques, like a barrel with a wooden paddle thingy sticking up through the middle—a butter churn, maybe? Standing at a table was a woman I didn’t recognize. Well, that wasn’t a huge shock. I hadn’t known any of these people until just recently!
Ignoring the woman, even when she shouted “Emily!” after me, I raced for the back door. Once there, I threw it open and stepped out into …
Fresh snow! I instantly felt the coldness on my bare skin as my feet sank into it. I looked around me and saw real winter just like on an old New England postcard.
But never mind that now … I was free!
I experienced a head-rush of excitement at having left the March household behind me. Somehow, I would find my way home! But when I turned around, the house was still there—a house without a satellite dish or a paved driveway. And looking at the landscape around me? It was all equally unfamiliar. I saw a horse and carriage traveling by on the dirt road. The horse and carriage might have fit into any country road back home, but the driver with his odd clothes wouldn’t. Was he wearing knee pants with stockings? Had I escaped or hadn’t I?
Barely thinking about what I was doing, I leaped back over the doorstep, then outside again, then back and forth. Maybe I had to build up speed to trigger the trip back to the future.
Mixed feelings filled me as I leaped back and forth. What was I going to do? How was I ever going to get out of here? But then the other part of me felt something different, something the opposite of panic. I felt a sense of calm as I realized that no amount of jumping out the back door was going to work. I was stuck, with no choice but to just deal with things until some other solution came along.
I’d always been known to be, well, a little excitable about things. In fact, Charlotte used to call me “emo” until Anne pointed out that nobody said “emo” anymore. So how could overreacting me be so accepting of this situation now? Maybe because I knew there weren’t going to be any handbooks lying around on How to Get Out of a Strange Time Period When You’ve Accidentally Slipped into One. But it was something else too. I was experiencing something completely original. Had anyone ever had anything like this happen to them before?
“Hannah, what is Emily doing?” I heard what I now recognized as Jo’s irritable voice and I realized who the woman in the kitchen was: Hannah, who was more of a friend than a live-in servant, even though that’s what she technically was to the March family.
I couldn’t exactly tell Jo that I’d been searching for the seam that separated her fictional world from my real one.
Even I wasn’t crazy enough to try that!
“I was just … enjoying the snow,” I said instead with an awkward laugh to Jo as I leaped back inside again. I’d work out my escape later. That seam, the way in and back—it had to be here somewhere …
“Silly goose.” Jo gazed down at my red feet. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” Then she shook her horse’s mane of hair as she grabbed my hand. “But never mind that now. Marmee has left presents for all of us under our pillows.”
I followed obediently as she tugged me along, feeling grateful that thanks to her I hadn’t had to embarrass myself even more by asking who