Chapter Text
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” Laurie said, dropping the gaily wrapped package in Jo’s lap. Or what was left of it. She had great expectations for the new year but they required a degree of sacrifice, which included her lap, her ankles, her ability to be anywhere near cabbage (Friedrich’s favorite vegetable), and a good night’s sleep. She bore nearly all of it with good humor and only her mother or her husband saw when she wept in frustration. To Laurie, she was the same Jo as she’d ever been.
“Teddy, you shouldn’t have. You needn’t,” she said, still picking up the present and giving it a customary shake.
“I know I needn’t. I’ll challenge you on the shouldn’t-have and I’ll let you know, I’ve not stolen any thunder from the gentle Professor,” Laurie said calmly. It was a change, Laurie being grown-up, welcome for the most part though she always missed the boy he’d been.
“Amy’s fine ways have been rubbing off on you,” Jo said with a grin. Would he take the bait and bite?
“She’ll be glad to hear you think so. She’s not so sure about me,” Laurie said.
“Liar! She loves your faults as well as your virtues. Better maybe, for it’s awfully hard to live with a saint,” Jo said. There were no saints at Plumfield and that’s how they liked it.
“Do you mean to open the box or not?” Laurie interrupted.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now. Once upon a time, Jo March would have torn through that paper before you could blink an eye!” Laurie said. Jo gave him a quelling look, then maneuvered the box from its wrapping, the ribbon coiled like a little green garden snake at her side.
“Oh, Teddy!” she cried, peering within. Her eyes filled with tears and she took the handkerchief he offered blindly. It smelled of sandalwood and cedar, Amy’s thoughtfulness evident.
“You like it?” Laurie said, sounding as he once had, uncertain and hopeful. He sounded as he often did, charming and affectionate and if there was the faintest hint of what he’d once longed for and she’d once suffered over, it was the softest note, fleeting, making everything real.
“It’s perfect. I love it,” Jo said. Only he could have known to pick it out for her but only her sister and her husband could have known she could bear it. Friedrich would see to her within the hour, his dear, low voice in her ear Thou must rest, liebling.
“Good,” Laurie answered. Everything else was in his dark eyes and her memories.