I leave you to imagine the lecture I got. “Privilege brings duty.” “We must love our neighbor better than ourselves.” “A kiss for a blow is always best.” “That I should see a daughter of mine refuse charity to the poor.” All these and more of the familiar adages rained like hail about my head until I felt as buffeted as the brave boys at Gettysburg, but to no avail—I stood firm like a true Union soldier and stuck to my guns.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Hannah who rode to my rescue. She’d “seed how that sour little creeter Lotty spoke to Jo when Miss March warn’t watchin’” and she’d “seed Jo a-frettin’ her brow on the ways out to that place, and onste she’d seed her cryin’ her pore heart out on the ways home.” (So I once did—thought no one had seen—won’t tell you why, so don’t bother to ask, miss.) Quite a speech she made, and in the end—partly through sheer astonishment—even Marmee was forced to concede defeat.

It is a comfort not to have to go there again, Amy. They are so mean of spirit, and so envious of what we have, that visiting them had become more of a burden than I could bear to carry. Time is so precious and if my poor Bethie had so few years of it, I am not going to squander whatever I have left in attempting to be pleasant to people who make no such effort with me. There is perplexity enough in making peace with those I value, such as Laurie and a certain fine young lady when she’s home from her travels, without wasting my trouble on those who don’t deserve it.

Your loving sister,

Jo.

When Lulu came down from the attic, she met Fee on the stairs.

“I was just coming to call you,” said Fee. “Your dad’s in the kitchen. He hopes you’ll go in and talk to him. Will you?”

Lulu sighed. A life spent bearing a grudge to one close to me would be a sorry one. “I suppose I’ll have to sometime, won’t I?” she said.

“Good girl.” Fee patted her arm, and went upstairs to her bedroom.

Lulu’s father was sitting at the long kitchen table that the family had had since before Lulu had been born, a glass of wine in front of him, looking exhausted. She glanced at him but did not greet him, seated herself opposite him, and they two sat in silence for a while.

“I regret every part of all of this,” said her father at last. “But by far and away the part I regret most is that I have caused you distress.”

“You scared me, Dad,” said Lulu. “You really, really scared me.”

“I know,” he said. “And I will live with that knowledge until my dying day. An apology seems pretty feeble after that. But, for what it’s worth, I do apologize, most profusely and wholeheartedly. I’m really sorry, Lulu.”