𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝒔𝒊𝒙

The sound of church bells tolled far off in the distance, chiming in pleasant rhythm with the loud crunching of your feet in the hard-packed snow. It was early in the morning, just bright enough outside that you could see the clouds of breath fanning out in front of your face as you exhaled. Your arms were linked with those of your cousins. Amy, to your immediate right, insisted on skipping and hopping and sent clumps of ice soaring toward your ankles.

"It's so hard to go back to work after such good times," Meg chided, eyes closed contently and relying on her sisters to guide her. Each of you and been assigned a duty for the day. You and Amy would be attending school until just after lunch time, Meg and Beth were going into town to do the family shopping, and Jo ventured off to Aunt March's house to read to her at her bedside.

"I wish it were Christmas every day," Beth said, her voice nearly swallowed by the snowy landscape.

"Or New Years," you chimed in. "Although that would be a bit strange, wouldn't it?" Despite the biting cold, winter was gorgeous in Concord. Unlike Detroit, where traffic was constant and crowding, the countryside was vacant of brown, muddy slush, and you were able to admire the scenery without catching traces of smog in your lungs.

Jo sighed and kicked up a patch of snow, exposing the flattened green grass beneath it. "We are a bunch of ungrateful minxes," she scoffed, trying to suppress the smile that tugged on the corner of her lips. All four of you gasped and Amy pouted at the accusation. Beth released her arm to tug on the sleeve of her sister's burlap jacket. "Don't say such despicable things!" said Meg, shaking her head with an offhanded tut.

"Well, (Y/N) and I have to go back to school and we don't have any limes," Amy huffed. The snow-topped schoolhouse was barely visible over the upcoming hill and clouds of grey smoke were pumping out of the low chimney. Meg, Beth, and Jo would walk you two there and see you inside before taking off on their own adventures.

"Limes?" You hummed, furrowing your brows. "Why would you of all people be in need of such things?"

Amy huffed once more and squeezed your arm forlornly. Her upturned nose had become blush pink in the cold, though you knew she wouldn't find it as enduring as you did if you chose to point it out to her. "Yes," she said, "the girls at school are trading pickled limes and I am in debt. I owe ever so many limes."

"Hm," you mumbled, unlatching your arm from hers in order to dig into your coin purse that was hanging from a thin cord around your hip. Father had given you a good sum of money for spending while he was away. You insisted at the time that you didn't need it, but here you were.

After shaking a few sparkling gold coins into your hand, you held them out to your youngest cousin and dipped them into the palm of her cool-grey colored mitten. "Will this do to repay your debt?" You asked, watching as she gasped excitedly and inspected the coins closely before tucking them into her coat pocket. 

"Thank you," she whispered, clinging even tighter against your side as you walked. "You are my favorite cousin. Between this and the drawings, I can surely wipe out my debt."

"What drawings?" Meg asked suspiciously, tilting forwards to eye her sister over Beth and Jo's shoulders.

"Oh nothing," Amy chriped, though she sounded unsure of herself. To hide her guilty expression, she shook her head and sent snowflakes flying out of her hair in every direction. Meg dropped it, although she still seemed skeptical, and you silently vowed to get an answer out of her by the end of the school day.

It didn't take very long after entering the schoolhouse for the girls to crowd around yours and Amy's shared desk near the front of the room. As it turned out, you didn't need to pester her much at all because she instantly keyed you in on the business of her drawings.

Mean-natured, caricatures of political figures and celebrities alike that she pawned off to draw money in from her classmates. As her cousin, you were appalled by this behavior. As her friend, however, you were somewhat proud of her cleverness.

You sharpened your pencil quietly, trying to ignore the hum of conversation as girls of all ages pushed and prodded for just the smallest glimpse of Amy's blackboard. When you promised Aunt Marmee that you would attend school alongside Amy, you hadn't been told that you would be one of the oldest girls there. You wondered if the teacher, Mr. Davis, would allow you to work quietly on your own assignments brought over from your previous school.

"Will you draw President Lincoln?" A small girl on Amy's right asked quietly, face pressed in between two other girls shoulders to keep hidden. A few other students chortled in agreement and your nose scrunched up in displeasure.

As if sensing your unease, Amy shook her head and tapped her short cylinder of chalk against the murky green surface of her blackboard slab. "No," she replied shortly, not looking up. "(Y/N) and I...our fathers are fighting in his army."

"My father says that the war is a waste and we should just let them keep their labor."

"Susan, it is immoral to own another human-being as property. How would you like it if someone decided to buy you one day?"

You grinned, face half-hidden beneath your fingers as you practiced writing. While Amy had her less-likeable moments, she was a good girl at heart. This quick answer did not go unnoticed and Jenny Snow scoffed, lifting her head to tower over your desk. "Everyone benefited from the system including you March's. Why should only the south be punished?"

The stool you had been seated on scraped loudly against the floor and Jenny gulped as you leaned across the surface of the table, looking down at her with a near sneer. "Because the south valued their immoral free labor over the wellbeing of our nation. In my opinion, we should all be punished for the heinous things we put those innocent people through but until we become open-minded enough to recognize that, it's a war that we sacrifice our fathers and brothers for and rightfully so until justice is served."

The schoolhouse went dead quiet in the wake of your words and only when you heard the echo of your voice against the rafters did you realize that you had been yelling. Amy gulped and folded her hands over the desk, head ducked down low.

"Miss March," a single voice rang out, stern and commanding. You squinted your eyes shut and pursed your lips together, taking a single deep breath before looking up at the head of the room where Mr. Davis was seated.

(A/N: I can't remember the last time I updated this book! It was way before Christmas. This was going to be one long chapter but I cut it up into two just because it got so big. Let me know if you see any mistakes so I can fix them up right away!)