Little Vampire Women (20 page)

Mr. Bhaer regained his balance awkwardly, stepping
on the doctor’s elbow, then crushing his fingers, then kicking his knee. The victim couldn’t protest this abuse, for a white handkerchief was stuffed in his mouth and ropes bound his arms and legs. All he could do was look at Jo with fear and loathing in his eyes. “Ah, yes, I haf captured him for you,” the Professor stated, finally reaching for the door for stability when all else failed. Gingerly, he walked around the prisoner and felt steady again on his feet.

Her amazement was such that she couldn’t think of anything to say. Here, wrapped like a present and offered like a gift, albeit a forgotten one left on the front porch, was the man she’d been hunting for over a year, the elusive author of all her sorrows. She rapped him once in the knee so recently injured but was otherwise bereft of a response.

The Professor explained. “When I heard what happened to your sister, I know this man is to blame. I found him and brought to you. He is yours. Do vhat you please.”

Overwhelmed, Jo insisted that he come in again so that her family could properly thank him for the thoughtful service. “You’re a hero. Please come back inside and let us drink a toast to you.”

“No, no,” he said, turning to go and tripping once more over his quarry. The doctor let out a large
ooph
as Bhaer’s shoe connected with his stomach. Jo followed him into the rain, and he opened his umbrella like the
gentleman he was, insisting now that she return to the party, for Laurie must be waiting for her.

“Laurie?” she repeated, confusion in her voice as she tried to figure out why he would think of that person above all others.

“Your best friend. The boy who is a vampire now.”

“Yes, my sister…” she began, then broke off as the meaning of his words struck her, and she laughed with relief and delight and something else she couldn’t put a name to. “He married my sister. He’s Amy’s husband. She turned him, not I.”

“Oh, my God, that is so good!” cried Mr. Bhaer, managing to clasp his hands in spite of the umbrella. “Jo, I haf nothing but much love to gif you. I came to see if you could care for it, and I waited to be sure that I was something more than a friend. Am I? Can you make a little place in your heart for old Fritz?” he added, all in one breath.

“Oh, yes!” said Jo, and he was quite satisfied, for she folded both hands over his arm, and looked up at him with an expression that plainly showed how happy she would be to walk through life beside him, even though she had no better shelter than the old umbrella, if he carried it.

It was certainly proposing under difficulties, for even if he had desired to do so, Mr. Bhaer could not go down upon his knees, on account of the mud, and Dr. Bang was only a few feet away, alternately groaning in
pain, struggling to break free and listening with interest.

“Friedrich, why didn’t you…”

“Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Mama died!” cried the Professor, regarding her with grateful delight as they stood in a puddle.

“I always call you so to myself—I forgot, but I won’t unless you like it.”

“Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell,” said Mr. Bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?” asked Jo bashfully.

“Now I shall haf to show you all my heart, and I so gladly vill, because you must take care of it hereafter. See, then, my Jo—ah, the dear, funny little name—I had a vish to tell something the day I said good-bye in New York, but I thought the handsome friend vas betrothed to thee, and so I spoke not.”

“Laurie’s just a friend. That’s all he’s ever been.”

“But how do I know? And now you gifest me such hope and courage, and I haf nothing to gif back but a full heart and these empty hands,” cried the Professor, quite overcome.

Jo never, never would learn to be proper, for when he said that as they stood in the rain, she just put both hands into his, whispering tenderly, “Not empty now,” and reaching up, kissed her Friedrich under the umbrella. It was dreadful, but she would have done it
if there had been a dozen Dr. Bangs lying on the porch, for she was very far gone indeed, and quite regardless of everything but her own happiness. Though it came in such a very simple guise, that was the crowning moment of both their lives, when, turning from the night and storm and loneliness to the household light and warmth and peace waiting to receive them, with a glad “Welcome home!” Jo led her lover in, shut the door, and immediately announced to her entire family that she and the Professor were getting married.

“And Beth’s killer is on the doorstep trussed up like a turkey,” she added to the already exultant crowd. They were so moved by both pieces of news, the much-wished-for happy and the long-mourned sad, that there was nothing to be done but bring Dr. Bang in immediately, lay him on the dining room table, and feast on him, despite the bruises that were beginning to smart along his arms and legs. Everyone was in a festive mood, and it warmed Jo’s heart to see her beloved among her family, for he seemed at home. It appeared others felt the same way, particularly Meg, because she suggested that Jo and Friedrich turn Aunt March’s home into a school for vampire defenders to teach the old ways like Jo had been doing at the salon. Aunt March would no longer be needing her home, as the dear ancient had been staked just last week by Amy’s replacement. It seemed a worldwide cabal had indeed been imminent
all those years, and Aunt March had the keen satisfaction of knowing she was right, which, as for so many paranoids who come to violent ends, almost made up for the end itself.

The idea was met with universal approval, and Marmee and Father, deeming the occasion was special enough and the chosen meal sinful enough, made an exception to their devout humanitarianism and dined, like the rest, on Dr. Bang.

“We must have our sing, in the good old way, for we are all together again once more,” said Jo, feeling that a good shout would be a safe and pleasant vent for the jubilant emotions of her soul.

They were not all there. But no one found the words thoughtless or untrue, for Beth still seemed among them, a peaceful presence, invisible, but dearer than ever, since death could not break the household league that love made dissoluble. The little chair stood in its old place. The tidy basket, with the bit of work she left unfinished when the needle grew “so heavy,” was still on its accustomed shelf. The beloved instrument, seldom touched now, had not been moved, and above it Beth’s face, serene and smiling, as in the early days, looked down upon them, seeming to say, “Be happy. I am here.”

“Play something, Amy. Let them hear how much you have improved,” said Laurie, with pardonable pride in his promising pupil.

But Amy whispered, with full eyes, as she twirled the faded stool, “Not tonight, dear. I can’t show off tonight.”

But she did show something better than brilliancy or skill, for she sang Beth’s songs with a tender music in her voice which the best master could not have taught, and touched the listener’s hearts with a sweeter power than any other inspiration could have given her. The room was very still, when the clear voice failed suddenly at the last line of Beth’s favorite hymn. It was hard to say…

Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal; and Amy leaned against her husband, who stood behind her, feeling that her welcome home was not quite perfect without Beth’s kiss.

“Now, we must finish with Mignon’s song, for Friedrich sings that,” said Jo, before the pause grew painful. And Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat with a gratified “Hem!” as he stepped into the corner where Jo stood, saying…

“You vill sing vith me? Ve go excellently vell together.”

A pleasing fiction, by the way, for Jo had no more idea of music than a grasshopper. But she would have consented if he had proposed to sing a whole opera, and warbled away, blissfully regardless of time and tune. It didn’t much matter, for Mr. Bhaer sang like a true Transylvanian, heartily and well, and Jo soon subsided into a subdued hum, that she might listen to the
mellow voice that seemed to sing for her alone.

The song was considered a great success, and the singer retired covered with laurels, and Amy put on her bonnet, and Laurie began to make their good-byes. But before anyone could leave, for the hour was late and the sun would soon rise, Mrs. March stretched out her arms, as if to gather children to herself, and said, with face and voice full of motherly love, gratitude, and humility…

“Oh, my girls, however long you may live, I never can wish you a greater happiness than this!”