Little women

CHAPTER FORTY THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable,and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increasedaffection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times oftrouble. They put away their grief, and each did his or her part towardmaking that last year a happy one. 

The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it wasgathered everything that she most loved, flowers, pictures, her piano, thelittle worktable, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books found theirway there, Mother's easy chair, Jo's desk, Amy's finest sketches, and everyday Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage, to make sunshine forAunty Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum, that he might enjoy thepleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved andlonged for. Old Hannah never wearied of concocting dainty dishes to tempta capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked, and from across thesea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths ofwarmth and fragrance from lands that know no winter.

Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquiland busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, andeven while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for thosewho should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one ofher pleasures was to make little things for the school children dailypassing to and fro, to drop a pair of mittens from her window for a pair ofpurple hands, a needlebook for some small mother of many dolls,penwipers for young penmen toiling through forests of pothooks,scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, tillthe reluctant climbers of the ladder of learning found their way strewnwith flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort offairy godmother, who sat above there, and showered down giftsmiraculously suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted anyreward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to herwindow, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came toher, full of blots and gratitude.

The first few months were very happy ones, and Beth often used to lookround, and say "How beautiful this is!" as they all sat together in her sunnyroom, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sistersworking near, and father reading, in his pleasant voice, from the wise oldbooks which seemed rich in good and comfortable words, as applicablenow as when written centuries ago, a little chapel, where a paternal priesttaught his flock the hard lessons all must learn, trying to show them thathope can comfort love, and faith make resignation possible. Simplesermons, that went straight to the souls of those who listened, for thefather's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in thevoice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read.

 It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparationfor the sad hours to come, for by-and-by, Beth said the needle was 'soheavy', and put it down forever. Talking wearied her, faces troubled her,pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfullyperturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh. Ah me! Such heavy days,such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, whenthose who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out tothem beseechingly, to hear the bitter cry, "Help me, help me!" and to feelthat there was no help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle ofthe young life with death, but both were mercifully brief, and then thenatural rebellion over, the old peace returned more beautiful than ever.With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though shesaid little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrimcalled was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying tosee the Shining Ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river. 

Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said "I feel stronger whenyou are here." She slept on a couch in the room, waking often to renew thefire, to feed, lift, or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked foranything, and 'tried not to be a trouble'. All day she haunted the room,jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then than of anyhonor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for nowher heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patience were sosweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them, charity for all, thelovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty toduty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing,but trusts undoubtingly.