Part 2

     "Bess was the one that shied 'way at the thought of bein' 'airlifted' down from the loft.  I agreed right away, no questions asked," Nan reminded a bit proudly, pointing her fork at Emil.
     "Yeah, now that you mention it, that does seem much more in Bess' character," Emil said dryly, causing laughter to erupt from around the table.
     Bess dropped her fork and glared at him, pretending to be offended.  "I didn't exactly see you willing to catch that disgusting green thing for Nan," she retorted playfully.  "Tommy came instead."
     "I didn't hear ya scream," he defended himself.  "If I had, I would have gone and gotten it for you," Emil smirked back, giving her a small look of triumph.
     Tommy shook his head, looking at Emil strangely.  "Ya must have been deaf then, 'cause you were sitting right next to me!  How could you have not heard her? I bet people in Boston heard her!"
     All eyes turned to Emil who shrugged, trying to deny he had no idea what Tommy was talking about.
     "Males," Bess shook her head.  "You're all the same."  Again, laughter spread as she pretended to sigh with distress.
     The teasing and playful bickering continued on for awhile longer until Bess and Nan retreated up to their room.
     "You'd never guess that you almost didn't stay when ya first came," Nan sighed, remembering back to that day.  "I'll never forget that look of disgust on your mom's face when I showed ya that frog."
     "Yes, sometimes I still wonder what compelled me to stay," Bess replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she closed the door.  "Why, Plumfield is filled with the biggest bunch of goof-offs that I've seen in my entire life.  And girls that shove boiled frogs in your face."  She shivered with remembered disgust.
     Nan smiled and rolled over on her bed.  That familiar gleam came back into her eyes.  "Oh, we all know what compelled ya to stay."
     "Oh, you do, do you?  And what might that be?"  Bess tapped her finger, waiting for Nan's response.
     "Nope, not tellin'."
     "Naaaan!"  Bess dragged out the 'a', plopping on the bed beside her.
     "No!  Nooo!  Stop, pulease!"  Nan begged through her fits of laughter.
     "Will you tell me?  I mean, if I stop?"  She was going to get it out of Nan, if it took her until next year.  "Deal?"
     Nan barely nodded.
     "All right, what?"  Bess pulled away, letting her be.
     "Dan."  Nan shrugged simply.
     Bess threw her head back and rolled her eyes.  "Well, I guess that's one place you and Nat didn't exactly fail.  Or, at least not long term."
     Nan's jaw dropped.  "The only time, huh?  Why, there have been lots of times when we didn't fail.  Like the time that we . . . Or that one day when . . . Uh, what about that time we . . . Fine, what's the one thing that you're talkin' about?" she asked finally, giving up on trying to think of a winning attempt.
     "Matchmaking."
     "Matchmakin'?  Now that's one thing we failed at each and every attempt of."  Nan's voice grew quiet, remembering back to the countless times that she and Nat had attempted one thing or another.
     Bess shook her head.  "Not one."
     "Not one?"  Nan arched her brows in confusion, pulling from her reverie.
     "Not one."
     "Which one was that?"
     "The 'secret' letters that Dan and I 'wrote'," Bess crossed her arms, and looked over at Nan with an eyebrow raised.  "Do not tell me that you actually do not remember.  You and Nat looked so guilty sitting there on the steps."
     Nan hummed, looking up at the ceiling.  "Eh, huh, he, he, ah . . . "  She twiddled her thumbs, flushing sheepishly.  "Nat and I?  Do such a thing?  Oh, never."  Clapping a hand to her heart, she sighed.  "And to think that I had actually tried to forget about that. . . . Why, you can never forget anythin' when Bess Laurence is around."
     Bess pretended to be annoyed by the comment, but both giggled.
     "You know what?" Bess broke the momentary silence, her own voice growing quiet.
     " . . . What?"
     "I think we should do this more often."
     "Yeah . . . yeah, we should," Nan nodded her head in agreement, creasing her forehead in thought.  More often.
     Bess rolled over on her back, studying the ceiling.  "I miss having you to talk with Nan," she confided, biting her lip.  "I never thought that I'd miss you so much.  I mean, I knew I would, but . . . but . . . N-Nan, I cried myself to sleep."
     "Y-you actually cried yourself to sleep?  Because you missed me so much?" Nan asked quietly, although it was quiet incredulously.  The truth was, she had cried many of times—over many things.
     Joining Bess on her back, she rolled over and looked at the ceiling.  "I miss you, too.  I loved the thrill of bein' by myself, but . . .  I-I . . . I missed you, too.  The times that I was mad, or . . . or homesick.  I never . . . never really . . . had anybody to talk to—like I talk to you."
     Silence settled over them as both girls lay studying the ceiling.
     "So, are you and Dan officially courtin'?" Nan finally broke the silence as she looked at Bess with her twinkling blue eyes.
     Bess rolled over and laughed, knowing how curious Nan was. "Well. . . "

     "Did you sleep well?" Jo asked the next morning, sipping coffee with Nan—although Nan much preferred hot chocolate.
     "Yeah, what little sleep I got," Nan laughed. She and Bess had lain awake, talking into the early hours of the morning.
     "I heard you two talking and giggling," Jo smiled.  "Made me remember those times back when Beth and I used to do it.  A little part of me always wondered what it was you two talked about, and sometimes I was beyond being tempted to join you."  She brought the mug to her lips.
     "Why didn't you?"
     Jo sighed softly.  "I thought about those times when Beth and I did, and how we wanted to talk—just the two of us.  How we enjoyed speaking quietly in the silence of the old house, with no one else listening.  I suppose that I just figured that you two would feel the same."
     Nan traced the edge of the porcelain mug with her finger, gazing blankly at the liquid inside.  "When you left for New York, did ya ever cry yourself to sleep because you missed your sisters and your mother so much?"
     Clasping her hands together, Jo laughed softly.  "Many of times—I don't think I could count them all."
     Nan's lips curved into a relieved smile. Good, I'm not the only one.
     "Nan, I don't have anything to do this afternoon, and as far as I know, nothing is planned.  Do you think that you'd want to . . . stop by Dr. Pierce's for a little while?"  Jo curled her fingers around the mug, savoring the warmth as she waited for Nan's answer.
     Small tingles pricked up and down Nan's arms as she tried to recover from her shocked reaction to Jo's question.  "If it's all right—"
     "Well of course it is!  It's not a burden at all, Nan," Jo interjected, assuring her.
     Shaking her head, Nan swallowed nervously.  "I-if it's all right, I'd prefer not to go today," she finished in a rush, not waiting any longer to get it out.  The longer she waited, the more Jo would surely say.
     "I . . . " Jo was a little taken aback, having expected Nan to readily agree.  Hoping the look on her face betrayed her true feelings, she shrugged.  "Y-yes, that's . . . I don't see why we couldn't wait another day."
     Nan's shoulders dropped with relief.  "Good.  Tomorrow."

     Tomorrow came . . . and so did the next day . . . and the next.  Yet, despite Jo's subtly firm prodding, Nan managed to excuse every suggestion of going to town with some reason or another.
     As the days grew into a week, Jo began to feel rather troubled—confused at Nan's constant 'denial'.
     She spoke to Asia.

     "Jo?"  Asia glanced at her employer, as well as friend, her eyes growing round with concern.  "Is somethin' botherin' ya?  Seems your head is a bit up in the clouds."
     With her forehead resting against her left palm, Jo glared uninterestedly at the wooden tabletop.  The cup of hot tea that Asia had placed in front of her twenty minutes before hadn't been touched and was growing cold.
     "Jo?"
     "Oh, ah . . . I-I'm sorry, Asia," she apologized, snapping from her state of oblivion.  "I didn't mean to ignore you."
     Asia tapped her fingers on the countertop.  "No, you didn't," she glanced at the floor.  "Jo, is somethin' botherin' ya?"
     Sitting up, Jo licked her lips and nodded.  "Yes, I suppose you could say that."
     Seeing as she wasn't going to give much at a time, Asia 'snooped' once more.  "What's botherin' ya?" she tried again, hoping to get more out of the woman.
     For once, Jo seemed to stop and really think about what the housekeeper had just asked.  "To tell you truthfully, it's Nan."  When she paused, Asia feared she'd have to prod yet again, but Jo wasn't finished.
     "Has Nan seemed a little hesitant—maybe even distant since she arrived?  Like something is holding her back?  Something that she's not willing to share, or rather . . . "  Jo paused again.  "Something that she doesn't want to face?"  As she looked up at Asia, her eyes filled with questioning and worry.
     Now it was Asia's turn to stop and think.  "Well, I suppose . . . now that ya mention it.  She seems to be as bubbly and enthusiastic as before, but I think there is a little something behind it all."
     "Exactly!"  Jo clapped her hands, pleased that someone else was noticing it, too.
     "Then again, it could be that she's just a little jittery at seein' everyone again.  Three years is a pretty long time without seein' someone Jo," Asia reminded, uncovering the risen bread dough.
     Once again cradling her chin in her palm, Jo sighed.  "You're right.  I could be blowing this whole thing out of proportion.  But still, I can't help but wonder if maybe I should speak with her because if something is wrong, there's no reason why she should feel like she needs to keep it all bottled up inside."
     Pounding the dough, Asia replied, "If she doesn't to seem to wind down any, then I'd say speak to her.  After all, it's better to be safe than sorry."
     Jo nodded.  Better to be safe than sorry.

Part 3

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