Read Online Little Women and Me by Lauren Baratz-Logsted - Free Book Online

“Emi-ly!” As my own mom used to say: “It’s always funny until it happens to you.” Still, Aunt March did nap often, and when she did, I followed Jo to the most amazing private library, where Jo showed me the one thing we really had in common: books. All those books made me itch to get back to writing.
    Wednesday turned out to be the best day of the week, being at home with Beth. Yes, doing the housework was hard. There were no vacuum cleaners, no dishwashers or dryers, no laundry machines, no Dustbusters—everything had to be done by hand. My beautiful hands—honestly, I grumbled to myself, someoneshould have invented rubber gloves by now. And if doing the housework was hard, watching Beth play with her six dolls could be a little odd too. That limbless castoff she’d gotten from Jo, the one with no head—it was creepy! But that was Beth: she was capable of loving anything and everything, even the most loveless creatures, even me. And that was why it was the best day of the week, even if it was the hardest work and there were those creepy dolls: because a person couldn’t be around Beth and not feel a little more peaceful, a person couldn’t be around Beth and not feel inspired to be just a little better than the person they normally were.
    You’d think that Thursdays with Amy would be the easiest of my jack-of-all-trades days since all I had to really do was walk her to school and then I was free until I had to pick her up later, and help her with her homework if necessary. But you’d be wrong. Thursday wound up being a loose-ends day for me, with me spending a good deal of it staring over the low hedge at the Laurence estate—a McMansion compared to the little brown March house—and wondering what went on inside there.
    As for Friday … the others had grilled me on what I did on my free Fridays, but I still wasn’t saying, in large part because I hadn’t figured it out yet!
    But then Saturday finally came and everyone was home again with lots to do.
    At least, there should have been lots to do, except there wasn’t, because it turned out to be a blustery and snowy Saturday, leaving the others happy to do totally exciting activities, like reading and sewing.
    All except for Jo, of course.
    Meg was lying on the sofa reading Ivanhoe , of all things— bo -ring!—while Beth played with her kittens, Amy drew pictures,and I tried to figure out how to sew a straighter stitch. That was when Jo entered wearing rubber boots and an old sack and hood. In her hands, she carried a broom and shovel.
    One thing you had to give Jo: she never cared how she looked or what anyone else thought. You’d never catch her wearing skinny jeans or eating salad just to impress a boy.
    “Where are you going dressed so abominably?” Amy asked lazily. “I hope no one recognizes you as my sister.”
    “I’m going to get some exercise,” Jo announced.
    “But you’ve gone for two walks already today,” Beth pointed out.
    Beth was right. Honestly, was there ever anyone so hardy as Jo March? It was annoying.
    “Beth’s right,” Meg said, laying aside her book with an air I now knew signaled an older-sister lecture. “I would advise you—”
    “Never take advice,” Jo cut her off.
    That suddenly sounded so familiar, the idea of Jo being the sort of person who never took advice. No, of course she wouldn’t.
    “Anyone want to go with me?” Jo asked brusquely, giving none of us any time to answer as she hurried on with, “No, of course you don’t, so I guess I’ll just—”
    “I’ll go with you,” I said, getting up so fast my sewing got dumped on the floor, which was fine: I was a lousy sewer.
    I don’t know why I did it. I hated being cold, would never volunteer to go outside when I could remain in here, even if in here was slightly boring today. But there was something suspicious about Jo’s attitude. I got the sense she didn’t want any of us to go with her.
    “No, you won’t,” Jo insisted. “You’ll