Part 3

     It happened again.
     It's better to be safe than to be sorry, Jo reminded herself quietly as she stepped into the parlor after beckoning to Nan.
     "Nan, I—I think we need to talk."  She licked her lips, twisting her fingers nervously as she took a seat on the settee.  "Why don't you come and sit down," Jo invited, patting the place next to her.
     Nan wanted to run—to get away.  Her gaze darted wildly around the room, studying anything and everything but the woman sitting at the other end of the settee.  How could she even look at Jo, without giving it all away?
     "W-what about, Mrs. Jo?" she questioned rather timidly, hoping the quiver in her voice couldn't be heard.  Only because the cushioned seat looked rather comfortable did she sit down.
     "I've been noticing—"
     "You've been noticin' it too?!" Nan exclaimed excitedly, jumping up from her seat.  "Especially this mornin'.  I went out to see Penny and ya should've seen 'er! She was kickin' up her heals and enjoyin' the cold so much."
     "Yes, it is a lovely afternoon, but that's not wh—" Jo interjected.
     "Everythin's so wonderful.  I just love winter, don't you?  I can't wait until it snows!  Did ya get snow for Christmas last yea—"
     "Nan," Jo said, her voice holding an air of firmness.  "I didn't . . . didn't come here to speak about the weather."  She touched Nan's arm, her voice softening a considerable amount.
     Shifting, Nan straightened, not sure she wanted to know what Jo was really talking about.  "T-then . . . what did . . . did ya want to talk about?"
     Licking her lips again, Jo clasped her hands.  "I-I . . . " she faltered, trying to find a way to start.  Her gaze fell to her hands before she looked back up at Nan.
     Taking a deep breath, she abruptly blurted, "Has something happened?  You've just seemed . . . hesitant about something.  For instance, every time I suggest possibly stopping by Dr. Pierce's, your face goes white and you just . . . pull back."
     Nan's breath caught in her throat, almost choking her.  "No, nothin' is wrong," she lied, not wanting to burden Jo with her problem.  "Nothin' at all.  Everythin's just great."  She smiled broadly.
     Jo's eyes darkened with worry.  Her motherly instinct told her that something was wrong, but she didn't want Nan to feel that she was prying into her personal life.  " . . . Well, if you ever want to talk or anything, I-I'll be here."  She squeezed Nan's hand assuringly.
     Quickly standing up, Nan mumbled "Thanks" and started for the door.
     "Nan?" Jo beckoned, sitting up a little.
     "Yeah?"  Pulling back her hand, Nan turned around.  She swallowed hesitantly, feeling her hands turn slightly clammy.  Why is she callin' me back?
     As though she were surprised that Nan has stopped to listen to her, Jo clasped her hands in her lap, licking her lips nervously.  "This may seem rather . . . strange, but I just thought that I'd . . . I'd share it with you."
     Nan shifted feet, not meeting Jo's intent gaze.  "Okay," she shrugged.  When Jo patted the seat next to her, she hesitantly took it.  "So, what do ya wanna tell me?"  The longer they sat in silence, the more anxious she was to leave.
     "Well," Jo began, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear.  "Back before Meg and John were married—actually, quite a few years before they were married—Laurie and John invited she and I to the opera one night.  Laurie had only gotten four tickets, so it would be just the four of us going.
     "When Amy found out that Meg and I had been invited to the opera, she begged me to take her with us.  I explained to her, over and over, that it was impossible for me to do so because there were only four tickets.  Of course, you know Amy."  Pausing for a moment, Jo rolled her eyes.
     "She had a terrible tantrum, throwing the biggest fit I had ever seen in my life.  There was nothing I could do, but Amy refused to believe it.  So Meg and I went to opera, and had a wonderful time, leaving poor Marmee at home to deal with her youngest daughter.
     "When we arrived home later that night, I found that she was unreasonably calm.  Amy never calmed down that easily, especially after the little tantrum she had thrown earlier in the evening.  As I later padded up the stairs ready to write, I searched high and low for my story.  During the opera, I had gotten a new idea and was anxious to add it in. "  She laughed gaily, covering her mouth.
     "Oh Roderigo, Roderigo. . . . That was such a silly story," Jo confessed, smiling.  "After searching for nearly a half an hour, for some reason, something told me to go look in Amy's room.  Why, I had no clue at the time.  But when I got to her doorway, I knew right away what she had done and why she'd been so calm and collected, as though nothing had happened.  Seeing my work burning to ashes in the fireplace was . . . was . . . "  She searched for the right word.
     "Well, truthfully, made my heart ache.  Months and months had gone into the unfinished story, and here it was, burning to ashes because my sister was too spoiled to except the truth."
     Nan's eyes snapped open and she gasped loudly, not bothering to cover her mouth.  "She burned your story?  Mrs. Amy?!"  The disbelief in her voice was quite evident, as she made no effort to hide it.
     "She did," Jo shrugged simply.  It took a moment for Nan to get over the shock of it all, but when she did, Jo continued.
     "I was so angry with her.  Angrier than I had ever been with anyone or anything.  I swore I would never forgive her and stayed true to my word until something happened.  While ice skating with Laurie a few days later, Amy slipped and fell under the ice.  When I think about how awful I was and how she almost lost her life . . . it was a terrible feeling and I was so fortunate that God gave me another chance."  She reached up to wipe a small tear from the corner of her eye, smiling softly.  "Not everyone is that lucky, though . . . "  Her voice grew quiet.
     Shifting again, Nan twisted her fingers anxiously, looking at the floor.  The parlor fell silent as both quieted, intently gazing at different places in the room.
     Clenching her jaw tightly from the force of emotions that had abruptly hit her, Nan choked, trying to keep the small cry from surfacing.  "Another chance . . . " she murmured quietly, her eyes misting slightly.
     Jo looked up, startled that she had begun to speak.  But instead of saying anything, she let Nan continue on.  Maybe she had hit something. . . .  "Oh Mrs. Jo, I was so cruel."  Nan curled her trembling hands into a tight fist, refusing to let the burning tears pour down her cheeks.  "The things I said. . . . He would never forgive me for it!" she cried out, clutching Jo's arm.  "Never . . . "  Shaking her head, Nan buried her head in Jo's lap, trying to muffle her sobs.  "It's impossible.  He never would!"
     "Nan," Jo comforted softly.  "You won't know that until you try," she reasoned, gently caressing Nan's slightly disheveled hair.  Lifting her chin, Jo looked Nan straight in the eye and said, "God is giving you another chance, Nan, and with Him, all things are possible."
     Nan's sobs gradually ceased to hiccups.  "God is giving you another chance, Nan, and with Him, all things are possible."  Wiping her cheeks, she swallowed and murmured, "All things are possible . . . "
     A slow smile curved along Jo's lips.  "Yes, with Him, all things are possible.  You're His child Nan, and He loves you so much."  Tears glistened in her brown eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks.
     "How did you know?" Nan questioned suddenly, pulling back slightly.
     "Know what?"
     "That I . . . I . . . "
     Jo pulled Nan up and hugged her tightly.  "I didn't."
     "You didn't?" Nan repeated incredulously.  "Then how . . . ?"
     "I had a feeling that something was wrong, but I didn't want to push you.  I prayed, and God was listening.  You opened up on your own without me having to prod much," she explained.
     Sighing thoughtfully, Nan sunk back and closed her eyes momentarily. She squeezed Jo's hand tightly and murmured,  "T-thank you."

     Shivering inside of her heavy wool coat, Nan wavered at following Jo and Asia into Dr. Pierce's office.  Assistant Wanted.  Apply Within.  She bit her lip, reading the sign quietly.
     "Mrs. Bhaer, Asia, Nan," Dr. Pierce greeted sincerely.  "Right this way."  He led them to an upstairs room before stopping.
     "Thank you," Jo smiled, gently urging Nan forward.
     Dr. Pierce nodded.  "Take your time.  If you need anything, just call.  I'll be downstairs."  He then left them alone.
     "I-I can't do this, Mrs. Jo," Nan murmured quietly, standing rigidly at the back of the room.  She didn't want to go in any farther.
     "You'll be fine, Nan," Jo assured her.  "Don't worry."
     "We'll be prayin' for ya, Nan," Asia gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.
     Then, before Nan could stop them, Jo and Asia retreated, closing the door behind them.  Jumping slightly, a wave of panic rushed through her.
     Don't leave me here alone! she pleaded silently, biting her lip to the point of tears blurring her vision.
     Late November rains pattered gently against the glass windowpanes, as a small fire crackled softly in the fireplace.  Fingers of the orange glow jumped up and down, spreading warmth through the room. An oil lamp sitting by the bed cast golden flickers of light that danced across the white linens.
     Deciding that Jo and Asia were not going to return—at least anytime soon—Nan took a seat in the simple wooden chair near the bed stand.  She fidgeted nervously with the drawstring of her handbag, feeling awkward and out of place sitting there.
     "I always knew you had a mind of your own . . . "
     Nan jumped up from her seat, nearly squealing with alarm.  "I-I . . . " she fumbled, clasping her shaking hands together.  Clenching her fists tightly, she compelled her eyes to adjust to the dark.
     "Nan," he whispered hoarsely.
     She gritted her teeth, determined to keep the burning at the back of her eyes in check.  "Y-you said you never wanted to see me again," Nan reminded almost inaudibly, trembling fiercely from head to toe.
     "I said some awful things to you that evening," he admitted, his voice no more than a whisper.
     Nan stood, attempting to keep her chin from quivering, and left the handbag on the chair, as she had already almost dropped it three times. Walking to his bedside, she wrestled to silence the cry that climbed her throat.
     It wasn't him.  It just couldn't be him.  This was not the man she had argued with three years ago.  It was impossible.  It just wasn't him!
     His once sturdy body was weak and frail; the dark blue eyes no longer bright with life, but dull with pain and sorrow. The once glowing skin was pale, no longer filled with the healthy, youthful flush.
     "I was so very wrong, in so many ways," he acknowledged, looking up at her evenly—truthfully.  "When she passed away, my life fell apart.  Everything I had known, grown up with, was no longer, as though it had all slipped away from me.  I was confused, and angry; I didn't . . . I didn't know what to do."  He reached up to weakly grasp her hand.
     Nan licked her lips, flexing her stiff fingers.  She didn't know if she was ready for this—ready to hear the truth behind it all.  The truth, the sorrow . . . the pain.  It had all seemed so easy to her when she was younger.  She could just pass it off with he was too worried about himself to care about her.  She could just blame it on him—make it be his fault.
     Yet, now that she was older, it made sense.  He had been hurting, just as much or more than she, and needed her just as she had needed him.  But the only way he knew how to deal with his grief was to pull back—away from everyone and everything.
     "I . . . I don't know what to do . . . to say," Nan confessed timidly, growing confused with the emotions that were swirling around inside.  "I was so wrong to . . . to say the things that I did.  I had no right; no matter how angry or hurt that I was."  She could feel her cheeks color with shame.
     His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.  "I was wrong.  Bitter.  I pushed everything out, including you, until I was ready for it all again.  When I thought that I was ready, my expectations of you just accepting me with open arms was wrong."  His voice grew husky with emotion.
     "Please Nan, forgive me," he pleaded, barely tightening the grip on her hand.  "I never would have forgiven myself if I had kept you from going to school—pursuing your dream.  Please forgive me," he begged again, searching her eyes.
     Nan nodded her head. "I will, I will," she hiccupped, reaching to wipe away her streaming tears.  "Of course I'll forgive you, as long as will you forgive me."
     His lips curved into a faint smile.  "I suppose we're even now," he rasped softly, trying to ease the tension in the air.
     "Yeah, I guess we are," she grinned, laughing lightly.
     A fit of horrifying coughing abruptly plagued his frail body.  He reached up to cover his mouth, trying to muffle the sound.  Before Nan could do anything, they ceased and he wheezed quietly.
     Her heart swelled, and she fell to her knees on the cold, wooden floor.  "I love you," she cried softly, cradling his hand close to her tear-stained cheek.  "I love you so much."
     He nodded his head, fighting off another fit of painful coughs.  "I love you too, Nan, more than anything else in this world."  His breath was shallow and ragged as he blinked furiously, trying to keep his eyes from closing.  "Please . . . " he whispered, "promise me that you'll never forget that."
     Lifting her chin, she shook her head.  "Never.  I'll never forget; I-I promise."
     "My little tomboy," he patted her head lovingly.  "I love you so much, Nan."  For one last moment, his eyes held hers.  His blue eyes slowly fluttered close; his chest fell with one last breath; his hand fell limp in hers.
     "No."  She shook her head in denial.  "N-no.  No!"  Nan curled her hands into fists and fought back sobs.  "You can't be gone.  Don't leave me!  I'm here now and I'll take care of you.  You'll get well," she started to sob.  "You'll get well . . . I'll take care of you," she promised.  "Dr. Pierce!" she cried, turning to the door.  "Dr. Pierce!"
     Turning back to look at the man in the bed, she knew that he would never again see the sun rise.  "No," she covered her mouth, weeping.  After a long moment, choking over her tears, she slowly leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead.
     "I love you, Daddy," she whispered softly—tenderly.
     Collapsing on her knees, Nan clutched the bed linens tightly in her hands, trying to relieve the painful ache in her heart.
     Burying her face, she sobbed.

Part 4

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