Little Women (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (52 page)

The sail up the Rhine
^gv
was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with all my might. Get Father’s old guidebooks and read about it, I haven’t words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblenz we had a lovely time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night, and about one o‘clock Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our windows. We flew up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed us Fred and the students singing away down below. It was the most romantic thing I ever saw—the river, the bridge of boats, the great fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart of stone.

When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughing away—to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me one of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked very sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didn’t throw it, but Flo, which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and turned sensible again. I’m afraid I’m going to have trouble with that boy, it begins to look like it.

The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden,
^gw
where Fred lost some money, and I scolded him. He needs someone to look after him when Frank is not with him. Kate said once she hoped he’d marry soon, and I quite agree with her that it would be well for him. Frankfurt was delightful; I saw Goethe‘s
^gx
house, Schiller’s statue, and Dannecker’s famous
Ariadne.
¹⁴
It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more if I had known the story better. I didn’t like to ask, as everyone knew it or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it; I ought to have read more, for I find I don’t know anything, and it mortifies me.

Now comes the serious part—for it happened here, and Fred is just gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him, I never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the serenade night. Since then I’ve begun to feel that the moonlight walks, balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than fun. I haven’t flirted, Mother, truly, but remembered what you said to me, and have done my very best. I can’t help it if people like me; I don’t try to make them, and it worries me if I don’t care for them, though Jo says I haven’t got any heart. Now I know Mother will shake her head, and the girls say, “Oh, the mercenary little wretch!” but I’ve made up my mind, and, if Fred asks me, I shall accept him, though I’m not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfortably together. He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich—ever so much richer than the Laurences. I don’t think his family would object, and I should be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, I suppose, and such a splendid one as it is! A city house in a fashionable street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable and full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for it’s genuine. I’ve seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants, and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should ask! And I’d rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don’t mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well; Meg didn‘t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make everything cozy all round. I wouldn’t marry a man I hated or despised. You may be sure of that; and though Fred is not my model hero, he does very well, and in time I should get fond enough of him if he was very fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I’ve been turning the matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little things showed it; he never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage, table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at anyone else who ventures to speak to me. Yesterday at dinner, when an Austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend—a rakish-looking baron—about
“ein wonderschönes Blöndchen,”
^gy
Fred looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely it nearly flew off his plate. He isn’t one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might guess from his bonnie blue eyes.

Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset—at least all of us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the Post Restante
^gz
for letters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins, the vaults where the monster tun
^ha
is, and the beautiful gardens made by the elector long ago for his English wife.
¹⁵
I liked the great terrace best, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the rooms inside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion’s head on the wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I’d got into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar
^hb
rolling through the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl. I had a feeling that something was going to happen and I was ready for it. I didn’t feel blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.

By-and-by I heard Fred’s voice, and then he came hurrying through the great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about myself, and asked what the matter was. He said he’d just got a letter begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill; so he was going at once on the night train and only had time to say good-by. I was very sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute because he said, as he shook hands—and said it in a way that I could not mistake—“I shall soon come back, you won’t forget me, Amy?”

I didn’t promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and there was no time for anything but messages and good-bys, for he was off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised his father not to do anything of the sort yet a while, for he is a rash boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall soon meet in Rome, and then, if I don’t change my mind, I’ll say “Yes, thank you,” when he says “Will you, please?”

Of course this is all
very private,
but I wished you to know what was going on. Don’t be anxious about me, remember I am your “prudent Amy,” and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as you like, I’ll use it if I can. I wish I could see you for a good talk, Marmee. Love and trust me.

Ever your AMY