"Fredrich is going to have my head," Jo groaned.

"He'll do nothing of the sort," Laurie replied soothingly; but his lips were compressed together, taut with the concentration he was currently using to navigate their buggy through the crowded streets of downtown with as much speed and as little accident as possible. The current hour made that virtually impossible; it seemed that tonight of all nights, every resident of their small country town seemed duty bound to clog the streets in as obnoxious a fashion as possible.

"It's been two hours, Laurie. I was supposed to be dressing—" she reached into his pocket and extracted his watch—"forty minutes ago."

"Well, my dear fellow, it certainly wasn't my fault you decided you simple had to have my grandfather's Americana to display to-night," and Laurie risked taking his eyes off the road for a moment long enough to shoot a significant look at the basket lying at Jo's feet, in which a leather-bound first edition of Pickwick resided. "I know that your obsession with Dickens is great, my dear fellow, but this—"

"Quiet and watch the road," Jo retorted, poking him hard in the side and plucking little Rob from the back of the buggy, where he had threatened to tumble out on the cobblestones half-a-dozen times already. "I know this is madness; but I thought it a lovely item to have out on display—it's the opening of a school, after all. Stop laughing, you bad boy; I know I've gotten us into a scrape, but I fear Amy's wrath much more than Fredrich's," and Mrs. Jo's forehead smoothed out considerably as her eyes took on a wicked glint.

Laurie waved an airy hand, a movement that caused Old Mag to lurch violently to the right, nearly upsetting the buggy and its occupants; after a moment, they were at rights again. "Amy is an angel," Laurie said comfortably, leaning back and reclining on his tail-bone, sighing with more than a little relief when they exited the main road. "I can handle my wife."

"Oh, indeed?" Now that the house was in sight, and the road was calmer, Jo put Rob down with a sigh of relief, grateful she hadn't brought Ted along as well; that would have been far too much for her. As they approached the house, though, she winced--- carriages were pulling round the gate, and lights blazed in every window, courtesy of Amy's Grecian sconces.

"Heavens, they've started without us--! Teddy, pull round to the stables, we'll never live it down if we're seen, we'll have to cut across the fields—have they manured yet? By the gods, I'm ruined!"

This was all said in Jo's usual topsy-turvy way; she tumbled over the wheel and to the barnyard floor, Rob under one arm and the basket over the other, stumbled when she hit the ground, recovered and began to run.

"Josephine March—are you crazy?" Laurie hollered after her, trying to tie up the horse. "Old Mag—"

"Leave the confounded horse!"

Laurie opened his mouth, closed it; and then he began to run as well, shrugging his shoulders once, and laughing as he did so. If the esteemed guests could only see the lady of the manor now, racing across a recently cow-pied field with a squalling baby under one arm and a basket in the other, tripping over her petticoats and letting out some very unladylike expressions….and now—

The deserters managed to sneak in through the kitchen entrance; and after tracking smelly mud in on Lottie's spotless floors, they tramped upstairs and to Jo's room, where her dress was waiting in high state of starch and clean collar, as well as a tiny black suit for Rob. Poor Jo was so flustered by the afternoon's events that she was half-way out of her bodice before Laurie, red-faced, managed to spit out a comment to stop her---

"Jo, I'm still---"

"Oh—you!" Stomping over to the wardrobe, Jo grabbed Rob's suit, then shoved both Laurie, suit and baby into the hall. "Talk to me!" she yelled through the door.

"Er…" thanking his lucky stars he was already dressed, Laurie surveyed the little boy in front of him and then began the Herculean task of deciding what end went in what when it came to a dress-suit for a child of three. "why are these trousers so confounded short, Jo? They don't cover his legs."

"They're short pants, my sweet idiot. And don't forget the waist-coat goes under the jacket," poor Jo called out over the rustling of her skirts. "the socks and garters next, and then---"

"Shoes. I can handle that," said Mr. Laurie, who then proceeded to put the child's knickers on backward, miss three buttons on the shirt, and burst two off waist-coat; regrettably, Mr. Rob did not take kindly to the clumsy handling, and his struggling did his costume more harm than good.

When Jo opened the door two minutes later, she took one look at Rob and began to laugh. "You'll have us disgraced, Teddy," she said, reaching for her son. She attempted to straighten his clothing, but he howled in protest—one rough handling, in combination with stiff dress clothes in a degree of cleanliness he was not accustomed to was enough of a bruising to the dignity of his childish soul for one evening.

"Oh---fine, stay that way! I shall blame you if people ask what attacked you, and not your bad uncle," and Jo frowned at Laurie, who was laughing heartily over the proceedings. "Come in, Teddy, and do stop that screeching; you'll have the entire party up here in moments. Take this rag and wipe your feet; Amy will know what you did otherwise."

Jo was laughing herself by the time they had retreated into the room; and the conspirators straightened themselves as best they could. Jo was dressed in a silver-grey that matched her eyes so vividly it seemed that they were cut of the same fabric; crimson roses adorned her auburn hair, which she was struggling to fasten in a low knot on her neck. After two tries, she growled and shook her head, pins flying everywhere.

"How I hate this! I should chop my hair off again, or wear two tails till I'm forty," she cried, seizing a hairbrush. "Why wasn't I a man?"

Laurie, who had finished cleaning his mud-spattered shoes and now was attending to his neck-tie, looked up; and a slight smile crept over his face, pleased to see his old friend looking so lovely. She was in rare form to-night; her sharp features were suffused with color, her eyes were bright, and the figure that had improved considerably from the weight she'd put on after Ted was shown to advantage in her new gown.

"Stop growling, Josephine, and I'll help you."

"You--!" Jo looked astonished.

"Don't scoff, my dear brother; I've often done Amy's; and really, watching you is pathetic. Sit down, my child."

Rolling her eyes at his tone, a desperate Jo actually did as she was told. "Just lope it up and stick some hairpins in" she instructed rather feebly; and her voice trailed off, for Laurie's hands were in her hair.

He took his time, fingers running through with a deliberateness that sent prickles up her spine; despite the fact that this was Laurie, this was incredibly intimate and they both knew it. Her hair, heavier and darker than it had been of yore, was no longer her only beauty, but undoubtedly her most outstanding one; Meg often said it was like satin. And here Laurie was, touching it in a way only her husband had in the past, dark eyes meeting hers in the mirror with an intensity that suddenly made her body go hot.

"Hurry, Teddy, we've got to get downstairs," Jo snapped, trying to diffuse the mood; his lips only curved up slightly. He said nothing, but he obeyed her; his fingers braided the hair nimbly, twisted it up, fastened it into place with the hairpins he handed her one by one. Jo gratefully sprang to her feet, relieved that it was over, realizing all at once how inappropriate this really was. Chaperoned by Rob or not, this was her private room.

"Thank you, Teddy—you've done so good a job that I won't mock you for your shockingly feminine fingers—at least not now. Come now, Rob, let's go and find your father," and heart hammering strangely, Jo scooped up her son and quitted the room, Laurie at her heels with a strange smile on his face.

xxxXXXXXxxx

"Oh, good heavens, they've started, we are finished! Smile, Teddy, smile," Jo ordered through clenched teeth as she and Laurie descended upon the great ballroom, which had been opened for the evening.

"Should we duck behind a curtain and laugh at everyone who goes by?" Laurie said with a chuckle, nodding and smiling at people in their path.

"Quiet, bad boy; my dress isn't burned to-day. It's best we look as unobtrusive as possible—oh, look, there's Fredrich and Amy!" and Jo was about to dash over to where her husband stood greeting guests with a pale but composed-looking Amy on his arm, but the band struck up; and instantly the floor around them was filled with moving couples, pairing for the opening waltz. Fredrich, who still hadn't seen Jo, looked down as Amy, patting her arm and saying something, looking concerned; she shook her blonde head, bit her lip and indicated the floor. In a moment, he'd steered her gravely into the crowd of whirling couples, and they were lost in a sea of fabric and waist-coats.

"Oh, bother," Jo muttered, trying to stand on her toes and see; she'd seen the worry in her husband's face.

"Never mind them, Jo, this is perfect. We'll dance once and swear we've been here all along," Laurie laughed, spinning her out and joining the dance with perfect time. "It's been far too long since I danced with you; was last at your wedding, I think."

"You're right," Jo acknowledged with a smile; "and I was far too nervous that day to be of any use to anyone as a partner."

"True. My feet still bear the marks."

Jo rapped him with her fan, but she was laughing—and finally relaxed as Laurie steered her round the floor effortlessly. He was a wonderful dancer, inventive, moved through the steps with zest and perfect time—and she kept up with him just as well as they had as teens, enjoying the delightful pastime for what it should be.

The waltz somehow segued into a delicious polka-redowa; and it was much later than Jo had planned before they broke apart and began to search for their respective spouses. Fredrich and Amy seemed to have disappeared without a trace; inquiries as to their whereabouts were met with vague answers. After ten minutes of looking, they finally stumbled across them, in a tiny alcove adjacent to the big room.

Their appearance was met with startled exclamations from Laurie and Jo; for when they walked in on them, they saw Amy seated on a divan in a puddle of silk and lace, breathing heavily, looking very ill. Fredrich was on one knee beside her, rubbing her hands, looking up at her with concern on his craggy face. When he saw Laurie and Jo, he started; and when Amy saw them she did as well, springing to her feet.

"Amy, are you well?" cried Jo.

"I'm fine—" but even as she said it, Amy swayed heavily; as her husband and sister hurried over in time to help Fredrich support her, lift her back on the divan. "I'm…fine," she repeated, shrinking away from them but clinging to Fredrich for a moment, eyes on the floor; she couldn't look at them, it seemed. "Just a bit tired."

"Miz Amy has taken ill," Fredrich said flatly, eyes fixed on the prone figure on the couch. "I think, Mr. Lawrence, it would be best if you attended to your wife, unless of course, you haf some other obligation."

Jo registered her husband's cold tone with some shock; then she saw his and Amy's meet, saw Amy's dart away. Her face had gone even paler, and charcoal-colored smudges stood out under her eyes; had her sister only started looking this bad tonight, or had she been sick, and no one had known? "Amy, dearest?" she said softly, reached down and touched her sister's forehead. It was cool as it was pale.

Amy looked up at her, biting her lip; she saw tears shimmering in the blue eyes. "I'm fine, Jo. I just…" her voice was small. "Would you hate me very much if I went upstairs to rest for a bit? I won't go home just yet, but I fear I overtaxed myself."

"Of course; I'll put you in my room. Laurie?" she looked at him, and he immediately went over, reached for his wife. Amy flinched, then pulled away.

"Thank you…dear. I can do it," and Amy struggled to her feet, lifted her chin; she steadied herself for a full moment, then began walking with unsteady steps towards the exit. Laurie was close at her heels, and after a moment was allowed to place a steadying hand on her lower back.

They were gone in a few moments; and Jo turned to see her husband, who was picking up Amy's reticule, fan and dance-card with deliberate slowness. He no longer looked angry; only tired and very, very old.

"Where were you, Jo?"

Jo ran into a topsy-turvy explanation of the evening's events as her husband's gaze fastened on her without expression; this made her face go scarlet, though she could not own why.

And when her husband merely took one long look at her, then turned and left in the direction Amy and Laurie had gone in, she felt even worse, though she could not own why.