CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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 frozen garden.

"If something very pleasant should happen now, we would think it a delightful month," said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even November.

"Perhaps, but nothing pleasant ever does happen in this family," said Meg.

'Two pleasant things are going to happen right away; Marmee is coming down the street, and Laurie is walking through the garden towards the house as if he had something nice to tell," returned Beth.

In they both came, Mrs March with her usual question, "Any letter from Father, girls?" and Laurie asked, "Won't some of you come for a walk? I've been studying all the morning, and need some fresh air. It's a dull day, but the air isn't bad, and I'm going to take Brooke home, so it will be a wonderful time. Come, Jo, you and Beth will go, won't you?"

"Of course we will."

"I'm sorry, but I'm busy," said Meg, picking up her sewing.

"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 a smile.

"No, thank you, except go to the post office, if you'd be so kind, dear. It's our day for a letter from Mr March, and the postman hasn't come yet."

A ring interrupted her, and a minute later Hannah came in with a letter.

"It's one of those horrible telegrams, ma'am," she said.

At the word, "telegram," Mrs March grabbed it, read the short message, and fell back into her chair looking quite pale. Laurie ran 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 immediately.

S. Hale,

Blank Hospital, Washington.

How still the room was as they listened, how strangely the day darkened outside, and how suddenly the whole world seemed to change, as the girls gathered around their mother, feeling as if all the happiness and support of their lives was about to be taken from them. Mrs March then read the message over, and stretched out her arms to her daughters, saying, "I shall go immediately, but it may be too late. Oh, children, children, help me to bear it!"

For several minutes, there was nothing but the sound of crying in the room. Poor Hannah was the first to speak, and with great wisdom that gave them all strength.

"I won't waste time crying, but instead get your things ready right away, ma'am," she said, wiping the tears away from her face.

"She's right, there's no time for tears now. Be calm, girls, and let me think," said Mrs March.

They tried to be calm, poor things, as their mother sat up, looking pale, and put away her grief to think and plan for them.

"Where's Laurie?" she asked.

"Here, ma'am. Oh, let me do something!" cried the boy, hurrying from the next room where he had been waiting, feeling that the family needed time alone together in their sorrow.

"Send a telegram saying I will come immediately. The next train goes early in the morning. I'll take that."

"What else? I can go anywhere, do anything," he said eagerly.

"Leave a note at Aunt March's. Jo, give me that pen and paper," she said, as she began writing a letter to Aunt March requesting money for the trip, as she knew money would have to be borrowed to care for her husband. "Jo, run to the store to get these things. They'll be needed and I must go prepared for nursing. Hospital stores are not always good. Beth, go 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 my luggage; and Meg, come and help me find my things."

Writing, thinking, and directing all at once was quite stressful for the poor lady, and Meg begged her to sit quietly in her room for a little while, and let them work. Everyone moved quickly, and the quiet, happy household was broken up suddenly.

Mr Laurence hurried back with Beth, bringing every comfort the kind old gentleman could think of and friendliest promises of protection for the girls during their mother's absence, which comforted her very much.

A short time later, as Meg was preparing her mother's things, Mr Brooke came in suddenly.

"I'm very sorry to hear of this, Miss March," he said, in the kind, quiet tone that sounded very pleasant to her worried spirit. "I came to tell your mother that I would be most willing to take her safely to Washington. Mr Laurence has allowed me to go, and it will give me real satisfaction to be of service to your mother there."

Meg put out her hand with a face full of gratitude. "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!" she exclaimed, looking into his deep brown eyes.

Everything was arranged by the time Laurie returned with a note from Aunt march, enclosing the desired amount, and a short message. In the note, she repeated what she had often said before—that she had always told them it was foolish for March to go into the army, had known that no good would come of it, and hoped they would take her advice next time. Mrs March put the note in the fire, the money in her purse, and went on with her preparations.

The short afternoon went by quickly. Meg and her mother were busy packing, while Beth and Amy got tea, and Hannah finished her ironing, but still Jo did not come. They began to get anxious, and Laurie went off to find her, for no one ever knew what Jo might be doing. He missed her, however, and she came walking in with a strange look of fun and fear, satisfaction and regret. She laid a roll of bills before her mother, saying, "That's my contribution toward making Father comfortable and bringing him home!"

"My dear, where did you get it? Twenty-five dollars!" "Don't worry, Marmee, 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 hat, and the family was shocked to see her long hair cut short.

"Your hair! Your beautiful hair!" "Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one beauty." "My dear girl, there was no need for this." "She doesn't look like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!"

As everyone exclaimed, Jo looked indifferent, though they all knew what a great sacrifice she had made. "It doesn't change the fate of the nation, so don't cry, Beth. I was getting too proud of my hair, anyway. It will do my brains good to have that hair taken off. My head feels wonderfully cool and light. I'm satisfied, so please take the money, and let's have dinner."

"Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can't blame you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed as you did. 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.

"Why did you do it?" asked Amy, still in shock.

"Well, I was hoping to do something for Father," replied Jo, as they gathered around the table. "I hate to borrow as much as Mother does, and I knew Aunt March would be angry if I asked. Meg gave all her salary last month toward the rent, and I only got some clothes with mine, so I felt terrible, and hoped to make some money for Father."

"You shouldn't feel terrible, my child. You had no winter things, and got the simplest with your own earnings," said Mrs March.

"I didn't plan to sell my hair at first, but as I went along, I kept thinking what I could do when I walked by a barber's shop. I noticed wigs for sale made of women's hair, some were nearly 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. He rather stared at first, as if he wasn't used to having girls come into his shop asking 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 the hair. It was getting late, and you know when I start to do something, I hate to give it up, so I begged him to take it, and told him why I was in such a hurry."

"Didn't you feel terrible when the first cut came?" asked Meg.

"I took a last look at my hair while the man got his things, and that was the end of it. I will admit, though, I felt a bit odd 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 had an arm or a leg cut off."

"Thank you, dear," said her mother quietly. The girls then changed the subject, and talked 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 returned.

No one wanted to go to bed when, at ten o'clock, Mrs March called the girls to the piano to sing before going to bed.

"Now, 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. They kissed her quietly, and went to bed in silence. Beth and Amy soon fell asleep, but Meg lay awake, thinking the most serious thoughts she had ever known in her short life. Jo was motionless, and her sister believed she was asleep, till she heard quiet weeping.

"Jo, dear, what is it? Are you crying about Father?"

"No, not now."

"What then?"

"My—my hair! I'm not sorry, though. I'd do it again tomorrow if I could, but I suppose I'm just being selfish. Don't tell anyone, it's all over now. I thought you were asleep. Why are you still awake?"

"I can't sleep, I'm so anxious," said Meg.

'Think about something pleasant, and you 'll soon be asleep."

"I tried it, but I still can't sleep."

"What were you thinking of?"

"Handsome faces—eyes in particular," answered Meg, smiling to herself in the dark.

"What color do you like best?"

"Brown—sometimes; blue are lovely."

Jo laughed, and Meg told her to go to sleep, dreaming of living in her castle in the air.

At midnight, the rooms were quiet, and their mother went from bed to bed, kissing each girl on the forehead, saying, "Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds!"

(end of section)