And the world tilted on its axis for the second time that day, and suddenly for the first time fell into place.

“How do you train to be a chef?” she asked.

“I’m not going to ask you in for coffee,” she said, after dinner, while they were waiting for a taxi.

“It would be weird, wouldn’t it?” he agreed. “With my sister and all. But we’ll work something out. We have time. Can I ask you a question?”

She looked up at him, suspiciously, in the night.

“Depends,” she said.

“Well, this might sound strange,” he said. And reached out and gently touched her hair. “You have such beautiful hair, and I don’t want to offend you because it looks just wonderful exactly the way it is, but I can’t help but wonder … have you ever worn it longer?”

Leaning against his arm, she began to laugh.

“Stick around,” she said.

“I intend to,” he said.

Concord, December 8, 1870.

Dearest Bethie,

Such news I have to share with you, dear, that it cannot wait a single moment. My Professor and I are in love and plan to be wed as soon as his boys are settled! My heart’s in a flurry and I am bubbling over with such happiness as I had never dreamed of; I had not known this bliss was possible until I met my Friedrich in the rain today and he gave me his heart and I gave him mine.

Friedrich is such a handsome man, Beth. His forehead is like Jove’s, his features are manly, he has beautiful teeth, and his hair is as thick as a haystack; but more important than these attributes is the kindness that shines from his heavenly eyes, the goodwill towards his fellow man that informs each aspect of his being, and best of all, the real love that lights up his face whenever he looks at me, your cross and thorny topsy-turvy old sister!

I never thought I’d find love, Bethie. Odd and plainspoken and too tall as I am, I’d supposed that love was reserved for happier souls like Meg and Amy, and resigned myself to the notion of living my life as a literary spinster with a pen for a spouse and a family of stories for children. But then I turned around, and there was Friedrich, and suddenly—I can’t explain it but it felt as if I’d been lost and wandering for all of my life and then suddenly come home. Never thought I’d feel this way—but I do, and Friedrich says he feels the same.

He ain’t a rich man, my lover. We won’t wear elegant clothes or live in a splendid house with a horse and carriage, and I’ll never be a fine lady, ordering servants and quirking my finger over tea all day long, but you know how little I care for that. I think that poverty is a beautiful thing if it is nobly borne, and you know I’ve always been happier when I could carry my share of the load, for it suits me so. My Friedrich comes to me as I to him, with a heart full of love, which is worth more than all the gold and jewels in a sultan’s treasury. If only you could have met him, dearie, my happiness would be complete … but I like to think that you can see him, at least, from where you are, and are able to rejoice for me.