Amy's Story

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Chapter 1 "What do you want most in the world, Amy?" Jo March asked her youngest sister. It was a Saturday afternoon in April. There was a scent of springtime in the air, but it was too cold for Amy and her sisters, Meg, Jo, and Beth, to be playing outside. Instead they were in the parlor. Their parents were visiting their friends the Emersons. Amy could recall a time when she and her sisters were regarded as too young to be left alone. But now Meg was fifteen, Jo fourteen, Beth twelve, and Amy almost eleven. "Why do you want to know?" Amy asked. "I was just wondering," Jo replied. "I know what I want the most: to be a famous writer. And Meg wants a husband and babies. Am I right, Meg?" "I would like a husband and babies," Meg said with a smile. "But not for another week or two, thank you. Right now what I'd like more than anything is a new dress. One I could wear to parties and not be ashamed of." "You have nothing to be ashamed of," Beth said. "You dress beautifully, Meg." Meg sighed. "Not compared to the girls I know. Anyway, that's what I want. A pretty new party dress." "I want all of us to be happy," said Beth. "And some new sheet music. And a really fine piano. And a new head for my doll. Her headless body looks so sad." "That's quite a list," Jo said. "Now, Amy, what's your pleasure?" "A truly aristocratic nose," Amy replied. "You ought to know, Jo, since it's your fault I don't have one." "Will you never let me forget?" Jo said. "I didn't mean to drop you when you were a baby. I suppose you must have been quite slippery." "You couldn't be any prettier than you are now," Beth told Amy. "And I think your nose is extremely aristocratic. For an American, that is." "Beth's right," said Jo. "A true patriot wouldn't care so much for an aristocratic nose, Amy. You are a true patriot, aren't you?" "As much a one as you," Amy said. "But there's nothing in the Constitution that prevents me from wanting a truly beautiful nose." "You're beautiful enough as you are," said Meg. "What else would you like?" Amy thought about it. She knew she was pretty. Her shiny blond hair fell in lovely curls, and her eyes were as blue as cornflowers. Still, an aristocratic nose would help, but beyond sleeping with a clothespin on her nose there was little she could do to make it perfect. "I'd like to be a real, professional artist," she said. "Someone who sells her paintings for lots and lots of money." "I'd like that too," Jo said. "For you're a generous girl, Amy, and sure to share your wealth with your less fortunate sisters!" The girls laughed. They were still laughing when their parents entered the parlor. "What a wonderful greeting," Father said. "My little women enjoying themselves so." "Father, Marmee!" the girls cried, and although they had seen their parents just a few hours earlier, they rushed into their arms and exchanged embraces. "It is good to see you so happy," Marmee said. "Especially after the conversation we just had with the Emersons." "Why, Marmee?" Beth asked. "Everything's all right with them, isn't it?" "With them, yes," Father replied. "But not with the nation." "You mean the Southern states seceding?" Jo asked. "President Lincoln will keep the country together. I'm sure of it." "It will take more than words," said Father. "It was in the newspapers. The Confederates have fired upon Fort Sumter." "Where's that, Fat