Littler Women Read online

  Everyone in the room, including little Amy, who was the hungriest and grumpiest of all, turned toward the Christmas feast almost ready for them on the table. They listened to their grumbling stomachs, but then thought of the letter from Dad.

  “I’m glad you got back before we started,” said Jo.

  “Me too,” Beth added. “Let’s wrap everything up and deliver it, Mom. Can we?”

  “Let’s take the cookies,” Amy said in a small voice. The Christmas cookies she had carefully decorated the previous weekend were her pride and joy—each one a small work of art covered in intricate patterns of sprinkles, piped frosting, and Red Hots. Still, when the youngest March thought of the hungry people in line in the cold, she wanted to give them away.

  Meg didn’t say anything, but was already digging around in the Tupperware drawer for containers big enough to hold the spread.

  “I’m overwhelmed, girls.” Mom’s eyes shone with tears of pride. “Let’s all go together, and when we get back we’ll have cereal and smoothies.”

  It was decided. They finished packing up their fancy breakfast and Amy’s dozens of Christmas cookies, and piled into the minivan. Mrs. March’s staff was thrilled to see her again, and happily added the new provisions to the offerings.

  “Angels!” cried the volunteers, and all the girls blushed. They had never been called angels before. Each one rather liked it. Even Jo.

  Fortunately, several other families in the community center network had responded to the call for more food, and new donations were rapidly appearing. It looked like the center would be able to feed everyone in line.

  Mrs. March let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  Now Christmas could begin.

  • • •

  Back at home, the girls presented Mom and Hannah with their gifts and Meg took over blender duties, whipping up Christmas smoothies for everyone with bananas, almond milk, nutmeg, and frozen mango.

  Meg’s Christmas Smoothies

  Ingredients:

  1/2 cup almond milk (original or unsweetened)

  1/4 cup orange juice, pulp free

  3 bananas, broken into chunks

  2 cups frozen mango pieces

  1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

  1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

  6 cinnamon sticks

  Directions:

  Always ask a parent or guardian before starting a recipe.

  Place all ingredients except cinnamon sticks in large blender and fit the cover on. Start blending the ingredients on a slow speed, and gradually increase it. When the mixture is smooth (after about 30 seconds of blending), portion it out into fancy Christmas glasses and garnish with cinnamon sticks. Makes approximately six small smoothies. Yum!

  There was a lot of laughing and explaining and floating festive wrapping paper as each girl clamored to make sure her gifts were fully understood and appreciated.

  Then, all fell quiet, enjoying their new things. Beth planned a new scarf to make use of the delicate yarn she had received. Jo began to read her novel. Meg planned out a flower garden for springtime, and Amy opened her fresh sketch pad to capture the scene.

  The quiet peace didn’t last for long, however, because right at noon there was a knock at the door. Four of Jo and Meg’s neighbor friends from school piled into the March house, ready to perform the play they’d been rehearsing together ever since Thanksgiving—a play Jo had written. One girl promised to record it for them on her phone, and Meg’s friend Sophia planned to edit it into a short movie. They were all nearly hysterical with excitement for the production.

  “Merry Christmas!” Sophia shouted as she stomped the snow off her boots in the foyer. She had a mass of curly black hair that no hat could ever contain.

  “It’s freezing outside!” said Mia, one of Jo’s classmates. Her twin sister, Ella, shivered and quickly scooted over to the fireplace to warm her hands. The fourth girl, Olivia, was an outgoing sixth grader who had candy canes for everyone and handed them around with a big, gap-toothed smile. She was in film club and eager to be in her very first movie production of all time. “I’ve been practicing my fainting,” she told Jo. “I’m really good.”

  “Excellent!” Jo said approvingly. “Your scene is the most important one of all.”

  The group was no stranger to the March house and the girls made themselves right at home. Hannah had prepared for their arrival and handed out mugs in all shapes and sizes filled with hot cocoa and tiny marshmallows. The girls, dressed in a colorful assortment of flannel pajama pants and Christmas sweaters, began donning the costumes Jo and Beth had lovingly prepared.

  Since the play was about knights and heroes, villains and princesses, cloaks and gowns and painted cardboard scenery soon began flying around the room. Hannah wisely placed a heavy screen in front of the fire. Couchzilla, tipped onto its back, became a fortress.

  Jo put on Dad’s heavy leather boots, happy to play the male lead, Don Pedro. She carefully shoved all of her hair under a cloak and began speaking in a deep voice. Amy played the princess, Zara, putting on an exquisite blue-and-silver prom dress Jo and Beth had found several weeks ago at a thrift store. Olivia and Meg played elfin queens imbued with special powers. When Sophia said, “Action!” the performance began with this chant over a cauldron, which was really Mom’s largest outdoor planter, rescued from storage in the garage:

  “Don Pedro loves beautiful Zara

  But only from afar-a.

  To see her from his steed he calls

  But on her way she trips and falls.

  But worry not, oh sweet knight.

  These queens do plan to help your plight.

  We’ll see your passion through,

  Now, which charms and potions will we brew?”

  The dramatic story played out beautifully, with only a few scenes dissolving into giggles that Sophia promised Jo she could edit out.

  With no warning, Couchzilla tipped over forward with a deafening BANG! and every last actress, even the dedicated Olivia, began to shriek, thinking poor Beth was pinned underneath. Nothing could save the scene. When it was determined Beth was completely fine and, in fact, nowhere near the vanquished fortress, each girl stopped shrieking and started giggling.

  Much to Jo’s frustration, the last scene didn’t get performed at all thanks to a quiet interruption from a very bemused Hannah:

  “Mom invites all of you girls to come in for dinner,” she said, gesturing for all to follow her into the dining room.

  This was a surprise. No dinner was planned that Jo or Meg or anyone else knew of. In fact, the girls all thought Mom had to work that night, with the idea that her staff and most of the volunteers at the center would want at least part of Christmas Day off with their families.

  When everyone walked into the dining room, they gasped in amazement.

  The enormous table was absolutely covered in treats out of their wildest imaginations: a towering cupcake stand holding three different flavors, an assortment of mini French pastries that Amy immediately identified as being from the fanciest bakery in town, several dishes of ice cream with bowls and bowls of toppings, and even a platter filled with cocktail shrimp and sauce, a particular favorite of Jo’s.

  Their eyes struggled to take it all in: a beautiful glazed ham, tea sandwiches with the crusts cut off, the shrimp, chocolate truffles in every shape and size, and even four immense bouquets of tropical flowers that made the entire room smell like a Hawaiian island instead of a New England winter.

  Each girl stared as Mom smiled at them happily. “Dig in!” she admonished them all, handing out plates. “There’s more than enough to feed an army, so I’m sending everyone home with extras for your parents, too,” she added, nodding at the neighbor girls.

  “Is it fairies?” whispered Beth.

  “It’s Santa Claus,” Amy said with certainty. “He knows I love chocolate truffles and almost never get them.”

  “It must’ve been Aunt Em. Maybe she just read A Christmas Carol,”
Jo said, her voice filled with wonder. Aunt Em, who was very rich, was not generally known for her generosity, though she did have her moments.

  “Jo!” Mom said. “It wasn’t Aunt Em. We’ll visit her later this evening. Mr. Lawrence, our next-door neighbor, sent it all.”

  “What?” Meg said, truly surprised. “But we don’t even know him!” Meg and Jo had noticed a boy their age around the house recently, but had never met him. Jo suspected he went to private school, which is why their paths had never crossed despite the fact that their town was on the small side.

  “Hannah ran into Mr. Lawrence this morning while she was salting the sidewalk,” Mom explained. “She mentioned you girls had donated your breakfast and it impressed him. He knew your grandfather a long time ago, and gave me a call while you all were performing. He said he hoped I would allow him to send over a few treats for Christmas dinner. Of course, I was happy to say yes. I had no idea he’d be so extravagant. Eat up!”

  With that, all eight girls loaded their plates and the entire party moved back into the living room, where they all had an impromptu picnic among the detritus of their moviemaking adventures. Jo sighed contently after eating at least twelve shrimp, six tea sandwiches, three pastries, and one red velvet cupcake. “I gotta meet Mr. Lawrence’s son. Just because we go to different schools doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” she said.

  “Is he cute?” asked Mia.

  “Yeah, is he?” asked Ella. “My mom says his parents died and he doesn’t get to play sports at St. Jude because Mr. Lawrence is overprotective. I feel bad for him,” she added, considering the thought for the first time. St. Jude was the private school in their small town.

  “I don’t know,” Jo said, dismissing the idea. “But it doesn’t matter. He sounds lonely. I’m going to be his friend.”

  “Good. We need a boy in our next production,” said Sophia.

  It was decided.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A New BFF for Jo

  “Friendship is born at that moment when one

  person says to another: What! You too? I thought

  I was the only one.”

  —C. S. Lewis

  A week later, Jo was in the attic reading her well-worn copy of The Princess Bride, which, she liked to loudly tell anyone who would listen, was superior to the movie, but not by much. The attic was by far Jo’s favorite spot in the house, even though it did not have a fireplace like the living room, or any fresh potted herbs like the kitchen. Instead, it had something far more valuable to Jo: her book collection. Hastily constructed and ever-sagging shelves of paperbacks and hardcovers filled the space, collected almost since the moment she’d been born and reached for her father’s beloved tomes.

  The attic was organized exactly to Jo’s liking. No one else in the family had much use for the tiny garret, with its low ceilings and crisscrossed beams. Dad, the fellow March bookworm, had a study filled to bursting with books of his own.

  On one side of the room, there was a window seat nearly swallowed up by pillows in every color. On the other, a small writing desk was covered in teetering stacks of notebooks in which Jo recorded the stories and plays she was always writing. A valuable first edition of her favorite book, Treasure Island, enjoyed a special perch on a shelf with a glass door to protect it from dust. It had been given to Jo by her father when she was only five.

  Jo knew she only had a few more minutes to read because she had promised Meg she’d attend the much- anticipated winter dance in their middle school gym.

  It was pretty much the last thing on earth she wanted to do, but a promise was a promise. Meg had made her two new throw pillows for the attic when she could’ve been reading magazines, and now it was payback time.

  “Jo! Jo? Where are you? Are you ready?” Jo cringed as she heard Meg’s voice call up to her from the bottom of the attic opening. She reluctantly closed her book, hopped down from the window seat, and lowered herself down the ladder and into the second-floor hallway outside the bedrooms.

  “Yup,” Jo replied, flinging herself onto her bed. Meg was sitting at her little vanity, carefully applying lip gloss. “Totally.”

  “You’re wearing your hoodie. You are not ready,” Meg said. “You can borrow one of my dresses.”

  “No way,” said Jo. “It’s way too cold to wear a dress. And I hate dresses and I don’t care what people think.”

  “It’s not too cold. You just have to wear leggings or tights with it. Like mine.” Meg gestured to her own legs and frowned. She was wearing her very favorite pair of leggings, but they were easily a year old and starting to look faded. Meg knew Mom didn’t have enough room in the budget to buy new clothes right now, so she never asked. But it was hard, knowing her best friends at school would have lots of new outfits to show off, extravagant Christmas gifts from all the most popular stores in the new mall the next town over.

  “Okay, okay,” Meg relented. She didn’t have the energy to argue with her boyish sister. “At least comb your hair and put on your nicer jeans, okay?”

  “Deal.” Jo released her long brown hair from its ponytail holder, brushed it, and put it right back in its ponytail. Meg sighed and Jo grinned. She did put on nice jeans, though. They were even a very dark color, which helped to hide the stains.

  • • •

  Mrs. March dropped the two girls off at seven p.m., even though their school was only six blocks away from the house. Meg didn’t want to walk through the cold because she had painstakingly curled her hair and wearing a hat would mess it up. She was also wearing pretty ankle boots with low heels that wouldn’t work in the snow at all.

  The gym looked quite festive. Someone had decorated it with huge crepe-paper snowflakes and even hung a big disco ball on one side. Nervous kids grouped together in clusters in the darker parts of the space, and a few confident eighth graders were dancing already. Meg’s science teacher, Mr. Calhoun, was DJing, which meant they’d be hearing a LOT of music from the eighties.

  Jo immediately felt completely out of place, especially when Meg disappeared into the girls’ bathroom with Annie Moffat to exchange lip glosses. Jo felt irritated she’d let her older sister talk her into going. Why do I always get myself into these situations? she wondered. There’s no law that says just because you’re in middle school you have to go to dances. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

  Jo was just about ready to bolt for the door and demand that Mom come back to rescue her when a familiar boy standing awkwardly near the folded-up bleachers caught her eye. It was the Lawrence kid! He looked almost as miserable as she felt, so she went over to him.

  “Hey,” Jo said.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “You’re my next-door neighbor.” Jo stood next to him. They watched the other kids in the gym dance and stand in clusters.

  “I know,” he said.

  “I’m Jo.”

  “Laurie.” They shook hands. Jo noticed he had a nice handshake and that his hands were not sweaty. She approved.

  “Weird name for a boy,” Jo said.

  “Tell me how you really feel,” he replied.

  “Always,” she promised.

  He smiled.

  “Most people agree with you,” Laurie said. “About my name. I get bothered a lot about it. But lucky for me there’s another new kid in my class whose name is Peaches, so everyone is getting used to me.”

  Jo smiled, very familiar with the short attention spans of her own classmates. “So, if you go to St. Jude, how come you’re here?”

  “Our class is so small—only twelve kids—that we’re invited to go to your school’s events. I’m supposed to try to have fun, I guess.” He blushed. Jo could tell, even though it was kind of dark in the corner where they stood. She liked Laurie. He got to the point and had a thoughtful way of talking. She took a moment to look him over, noticing his dark hair that curled a little around the edges; tan, olive-toned skin; and kind brown eyes. He was also taller than Jo, which was saying something.

  “Well, I’d
ask you to dance, but I don’t dance.” Jo crossed her arms with finality. She wanted to make Laurie feel welcome in her school, but there were limits to her generosity. Firm limits.

  “Me neither,” Laurie said, sounding relieved. The pair watched a knot of eighth graders all jumping up and down under the disco ball.

  “So, what kind of stuff do you like to do?” Jo asked.

  “Stuff?”

  “Like, for fun? Do you have fun? Or do you just stand in dark corners at dances and look miserable?”

  “Well, standing in dark corners and looking miserable is one of my top five interests.” Laurie grinned. “But when I’m not doing that I like to read. Play video games. Play hockey.”

  “Cool.” Jo nodded approvingly. “Those are actually three of my top five interests. Do you have skates?”

  “Yeah.” Laurie looked much less miserable than he had a few moments ago. He looked almost happy.

  “Me too! They’re too small, but it doesn’t matter. We should play. The pond is definitely frozen over; we just have to clear the snow.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, what’s your favorite book?” Jo asked. “If you weren’t talking to me, I’d already be home reading.”

  “Mmm, probably Ender’s Game.” Laurie loved classic sci-fi.

  “Ooh, I love Ender’s Game,” Jo said, clapping her hands. She went through the occasional sci-fi streak herself. “I also love A Wrinkle in Time and Ready Player One. My favorite book is old-school, though: Treasure Island.”

  “I haven’t read it,” Laurie admitted. “But I’d like to,” he added. “I’m also a Tolkien nerd.”

  “All the best people are,” Jo said. They smiled at each other.

  Laurie looked at the crowd of kids in front of them and noticed some kind of commotion. His eyes narrowed. “Hey! Isn’t that your sister?”

  Jo gasped and ran into the middle of the group gathered around Meg, who was sitting on the gym floor with one foot out of its ankle boot and in her hands. “Meg! What happened?”