“It was amazing,” said Sophie. She gulped at her coffee and waved a spoonful of baked pear. “Just amazing. I don’t know where I found the courage, actually. I just suddenly felt this tingling inside me, like a sort of fountain of passion welling up. It was like I was possessed, like I was someone like Lulu who just didn’t care what people thought of me. And it’ll be really useful to me later on in my career, because next time I have to play the part of someone who’s rude and tactless and goes around offending people, I’ll know where to find it.”

“You know,” said Lulu to Sophie, “for about two minutes there you actually managed to stop being annoying, and it was really nice. But the two minutes are up now.”

Concord, December 25, 1870.

Dearest Bethie,

We have had our second Christmas without you—and, dearie, please don’t be hurt, or think for a moment that we love you any the less, or that we will ever stop missing you even for an hour, but the truth is, dear, that it is getting just a little easier for us all to bear your loss at last, and I know that my tenderhearted Bethie will rejoice to hear it.

You would have liked to see us, I think, as we sat at Christmas dinner today, Marmee a little thinner and graver than when we were children, and Father a little more stooped, but both as full of love and wisdom as it is possible for two human beings to be; Meg, all womanly grace as she tended to the little ones, and John, as always, with his head half buried in a book; and, best of all, my lady Amy and my lord Teddy, she the height of elegance in her blue silk Parisian dress trimmed with a becoming little collar of Brussels lace, he so completely captivated by her that he can’t take his eyes off her for more than a minute. She has such a good effect on him, dear, for he grows more steady and sensible under her soft hand than he ever could under my rough one, and already they smile and nod at each other for all the world like “old married folks” at the peaceful end of life’s shared journey instead of newlyweds at its beginning—it is altogether jolly to see them.

Even so, I confess I felt a little low when the day began, for Fritz was so far away at his college in the West, and I hadn’t had a letter from him for days, which was hard to bear, especially at this time of festivity. But I quickly chided myself for my selfishness when I saw old Mr. Laurence come in, for, dearly as Amy and Teddy care for him, his beloved has long been in that place from where letters are never, ever sent. “Fie upon you, Josephine,” I told myself, using that hated sentimental name to perform a penance, “thinking only of your small burden when others have loads to carry that are so much heavier. You will make it your special endeavor this day to tend upon that good old man, and give him comfort in his loneliness.” And my virtue was rewarded at last, for, as we were drinking toasts over the cake and the ice cream, suddenly there came a knock at the door, and there in the porch stood my Fritz himself, beaming like Santa Claus, with his arms full of parcels of oranges, lemons, dates and raisins, and nuts of all kinds, all from the grounds of his college.