Chapter One
The warm sun of the mid-afternoon beat down on Hetty King's back as she wriggled her toes in the pink sand of the beach. Directly in front of her, the ocean rose and fell, crashing to the shore in a ceaseless rhythm, blotting out the rest of the world with its majestic roar. It was the Saturday after her twelfth birthday and her parents had given her a beautiful new copy of Little Women, as she had been dying to read it. Now that she had the leather-bound book in her hands, she found that it was even more delightful than she had imagined. Hetty liked to think she was like Jo March...somewhat tomboyish, but rather vain of her lovely brown hair which fell in thick waves to her waist. She too had often thought of it as her "one beauty".
The tide was coming in and the waves came closer and closer, but Hetty was oblivious to what was happening around her, lost in the story and hypnotic sound of the ocean. She had just reached the part where Laurie was about to propose to Jo, when a huge wave crashed over her and swept the book out to sea, leaving Hetty spluttering and shocked. Without thinking, she dove into the water and frantically searched for the book in the swirling foam. She wanted to cry, but she held the tears back and bit her lip. Finally, she caught sight of it, snatched it up, and staggered to the shore with her heavy skirts waterlogged and dragging her down. "Oh...darn it all!" she cried as she hopelessly examined the soggy pages and stamped her foot. How could she hide this from Mama and Father? They couldn't afford to buy her another and a copy of Louisa May Alcott's latest novel was such a treasure! When it was first published two years before, it had sold out in stores immediately and it was still in high demand. She picked up her shoes and stockings before flopping down on a grassy embankment a few feet away. At least it was still readable. It would have been such a horrible disappointment if she couldn't even finish the story. Muriel Stacey, whose family lived down the road, had a copy of the book herself, but Hetty hated to borrow things. She especially hated to borrow from Muriel who made her jealous nearly everytime she saw her, despite the fact that they had been friends for years.
Thinking of Muriel reminded Hetty that the school year would be beginning in a week. Muriel loved their teacher, Miss McCormick, and was forever talking about how she would be a teacher when she grew up. Hetty wasn't sure what she wanted to do with herself, but maintaining discipline in a one-room schoolhouse full of impudent students was not high on her list. School bored her, as she was an extremely bright child and made straight As without even trying. All she knew was that she wanted to live near the sea forever and enjoy its simple regularity. The tide would always come in and always go out, and she found the pattern comforting. She did not think of the ships out on the ocean that were often taken by surprise when sudden storms came up. To her, the sea was an old friend who rose up to meet her every morning as she ran along its edge.
Hetty sighed as she stood up to walk home. It would be best to go back now, when Father was still working in the fields, seven-year-old Alec was off playing somewhere, and Mama was enjoying her afternoon nap along with little Roger and Ruth. The tall grass rustled against her skirt as she headed back through the fields and toward Rose Cottage. The old yellow house was beautiful at this time of year, with masses of perfect roses climbing over the trellis and around the front. A white picket fence separated it from the dusty red road which was packed down hard from years of use. Hetty decided to avoid the front door and go in through the kitchen. If Mama did happen to be awake, she wouldn't be there. Lately, the smell of food cooking, which continually hung about the kitchen, had made her ill and she usually asked Hetty to prepare dinner for the family. The small girl crept stealthily up the back stairs, listening intently for any sound inside as she approached the screen door.
The door creaked open and Hetty quietly ascended the winding staircase, thankful that her shoes weren't full of water and making squishing sounds. As she came to the bedroom she shared with her three-year-old sister Ruth, she heard babyish humming from inside and rolled her eyes. With Little Women still clutched behind her back, she turned the knob and met the sight of Ruth dressed up in her best Sunday dress and Hetty's favorite hat! A lacy shawl was draped over the tiny girl's shoulders and her blonde curls were rumpled from a brief nap. "Ruth!" Hetty exclaimed angrily. "You are supposed to be asleep and why did you take my hat without asking? That is stealing, child! Now let me help you out of that dress...you'll get it dirty or tear it and you have to wear it tomorrow."
"No!" Ruth defied her, running into a corner. Hetty hid her book under the bed and covered it with the end of the quilt before making a dive for her sister who jumped out of the way and behind a chair.
"At least give me my hat, back!" she pleaded. "You know, it was wrong to take it, Ruthie. I don't care if you want to mess up your own clothes, but you won't ruin mine. You must have respect for the property of others. You can't go through life taking whatever you want." The lecture was entirely lost on the little girl who opened her mouth and screamed until she was red in the face. Eleanor King came running down the hall and flung open the door.
"Henrietta King, what is going on in here?! Why did you wake your sister when she was taking her nap? And why in heaven's name are you soaking wet?!"
Hetty was immediately at a disadvantage because she had gone swimming in her dress and was feeling guilty at the moment about the ruined book. Nevertheless, she jumped to defend herself. "Mama, I wasn't doing anything. Well...look at Ruth! Look what she's wearing! I didn't wake her up, I promise! She was playing dress-up in her Sunday clothes and my hat and a shawl that came from who knows where-"
"Hetty, that's enough!" Eleanor shushed her, before ducking out the door and pulling a towel out of the linen closet. She handed it to her oldest daughter. "Now, dry off and change out of those wet things. Ruth, come here." The golden haired girl toddled toward her mother timidly. "Why are you playing when you are supposed to be napping?" she asked. "It was very naughty of you to take your sister's hat."
"But Mama, I want to be pretty!" she replied, putting on her sweetest angelic face. Eleanor laughed and hugged her close.
"You already are very pretty, my Ruth, but you'll be even more beautiful if you get your 'beauty sleep'," she reassured her. Hetty watched this scene out of the corner of her eye as she opened the wardrobe and took out a clean dress and pinafore. It wasn't fair. Ruth got away with everything and she was going to grow up to be an exceedingly spoiled child. At least, that's what Grandmother King always said when she came to visit and witnessed these kinds of spectacles. Hetty decided that if ever she had any children, they would be disciplined and taught not to behave like wild brats. She caught sight of her now scraggly hair in the mirror and plaited it into one long braid down her back. After her mother had left with Ruth who was begging for milk and a cookie, Hetty pulled the book out from under the bed. She would have to get it dry somehow, but how could it be done inconspicuously? She glanced about the room until her eyes landed on the iron grate in the floor which allowed heat to come up from the kitchen. That was perfect! Well, not perfect maybe, but it would do well enough. Hetty carefully laid the book over the grate and fanned the pages as best she could. Just then, her mother called from the hallway. "Hetty! Would you come here, please?" Hetty moved the chair to the side so that it obscured the grate and ran out to her mother.
"Yes, Mama?"
"I want you to start dinner now. There's a chicken downstairs that's been plucked, but you'll have to take the insides out and clean it. Now get downstairs, dear." Hetty didn't say anything, but she trudged down the stairs with a sour expression on her face as soon as Eleanor couldn't see. She hated cleaning the chicken! It was the most disgusting job she knew of, aside from mucking out the pigsty. Nothing was going right today, absolutely nothing!
Hetty was wrestling with the slimy bird when a knock came at the back door and she saw Muriel Stacey standing outside the screen and smiling cheerfully. She was four months younger than Hetty, but looked older. The worst part was that several of the boys were wild about her and she didn't care a lick about them, while Hetty felt awkward, small, and skinny, with no shape at all, and knew that none of the boys cared a lick about her...except maybe Romney Penhallow. He and Hetty did have fun playing tricks on each other in school, as he shared her mischievous spirit. "Hello, Hetty!" Muriel greeted her. "D'you mind if I come in?"
"There's nobody stopping you," Hetty pointed out, still in a fow-er-foul mood. Muriel opened the door and came into the room, unabashed by the sarcastic words. Hetty often wondered if Muriel simply ignored her rude remarks or if she was too simple to notice them.
"Mother sent me to borrow Mrs. King's recipe for cranberry pie. She's having some of the ladies from the church to tea next week, but she wants to test it out first. Mother is quite a perfectionist," Muriel explained.
"Well, I'm sorry, Muriel, but you can't have it! The recipe for the King cranberry pie is a family secret and it wouldn't do to begin handing it out to everyone. Besides which, isn't my mother coming anyhow? I'm sure she'd be glad to make it herself," Hetty lied with decorum.
"Oh, we wouldn't want her to go to any trouble!" Muriel worried.
"Well, I'll make it then," Hetty replied grimly as she pulled a handful of gizzards out of the chicken and threw them into the pail. "I already do everything else around here."
"You would? That would be lovely, Hetty!" Muriel gushed, pulling up a chair and making herself at home. "Do you need some help with that?" she offered in a voice that made it obvious she was only asking out of politeness.
"I wouldn't want you to dirty your dress," Hetty smiled sweetly. Muriel always looked perfect and today she wore a pale pink confection with a lace-trimmed pinafore. Her black hair was beautiful in curls next to the rosy color. Hetty hated pink, but that was mostly because it looked ugly on her. It was adorable on Muriel.
"Oh..." Muriel said, looking down at her dress as if she were noticing it for the first time. "Perhaps I'd better not, then." She brightened as she thought of something else. "Have you read any good books lately, Hetty?"
"I'm reading Little Women right now. Mama and Father gave it to me for my birthday."
"I read that last month and it was wonderful," Muriel commented. "But I just finished Pride and Prejudice and I absolutely adored it. It was so romantic! Have you ever read Pride and Prejudice?"
"I'm afraid I haven't," Hetty answered.
"Then you must read it as soon as you are done with Little Women. I know you'll love it just as much as I did."
"Yes, of course...as soon as I finish Little Women," Hetty agreed vaguely, thinking of the soiled book drying upstairs in her bedroom. Did Jo agree to marry Laurie or not? If only I were done with this chicken and Muriel were gone! she thought. Ruth came bouncing into the kitchen, looking for more treats.
"Hetty, I wanna cookie!" she announced.
"I'll get one for you, Ruthie," Muriel laughed indulgently as she went over to the counter and took the lid off the jar.
"If you don't stop eating so many sweets, you will be as fat as Becky," Hetty admonished her sister. Becky was the gigantic sow who lived out in the barn and was pregnant with a litter at the time.
"Hetty, that's mean!" Muriel cried, even though Ruth appeared not to have heard. She was sitting happily at the table and humming as she munched on her cookie and swung her feet back and forth.
Hetty dropped the chicken into its pot with a plop and began working the pump with her elbow. "No one else will discipline her if I don't," she replied. "What that child wants is a good swat on her backside." Muriel hadn't witnessed the earlier events, so she was somewhat confused by Hetty's vehement words.
"All she did was ask for a cookie!" Muriel protested.
"Muriel...she's my sister and not yours," Hetty returned, ending the discussion. She shut the oven and glanced at the small clock on the counter. Muriel sighed.
"I always wanted a sister. You're so lucky, Hetty..."
"Believe me, Muriel, you don't know of what you speak. And you should be grateful that you're the youngest in your family and not the oldest. Now, will you please excuse me whilst I go to my room? I have to finish reading Little Women. So I can get on to Pride and Prejudice, you know," Hetty added, somewhat sarcastically.
"I should be getting home anyway," Muriel agreed. "Mother will scold me for not getting the recipe, but I suppose she'll be grateful for your help."
"Yes, yes," Hetty dismissed her.
"I'll see you in church tomorrow!" Muriel called as she started off toward the road. "Good-bye!" Hetty returned the wave and then slammed the screen door and untied the apron she had been wearing over her clothes. She felt sticky from her salty swim earlier, but she would have to wait until later for a bath. She dashed up the stairs and back to her room, where she locked the door and sat down on the floor to read her book as it dried. Gingerly, she thumbed her way toward chapter thirty-five and hungrily devoured the words.
Three hours later, the family was sitting down to dinner around the shiny dark wood table. Mama had even come down and wasn't looking as green as she had been lately at the sight of food. Father was tired after a long day's work, but Alec, who had been helping him, seemed as energetic as ever. Roger declared proudly that he had been helping, too, but he was only four years old and of little use in the fields. His helpfulness might have been the cause of Mr. King's unusual fatigue. Ruth wasn't hungry, having eaten her fill of cookies in the afternoon, but her mother began putting food on her plate anyway. Hetty went to the oven to take out the chicken and set it on Grandmother Elizabeth's platter, which was waiting nearby. As she lifted out the pan, she felt her breath stop for a moment.
"Is something wrong, Hetty?" Eleanor asked, turning around. Hetty didn't say anything. Her mother got up and joined her at the stove, her wide hoop skirt rustling loudly. "Why it's not cooked!"
"I-I must have forgotten to start the fire," Hetty murmured feebly. "I don't know how I could forget that..."
"Neither do I!" Eleanor agreed. "Hetty, really, you mustn't be so absentminded!"
"I'm sorry," she apologized. Alec laughed hysterically from his place at the table.
"Alexander, you stop laughing at your sister. Now," Mr. King warned him. Alec ceased laughing, but he kept a grin plastered on his round face, while Roger followed his example and had to be shushed, as well.
"It's wasted," Eleanor stated. "A whole chicken wasted. Hetty, you've had your soup and you can dispose of this mess." She went back to the table and ate quickly in tight-lipped silence.
Later that night, after the children had all had their baths and Ruth was asleep in their bed, Hetty curled up in the armchair and kept a candle burning on the table next to her as she tried to console herself with the remainder of the story. Passing by the door, Eleanor noticed the light and peeked inside, afraid that her daughter had gone to sleep and forgotten to snuff out her candle. She smiled when she saw Hetty studiously reading and tugging at a strand of her long hair. "Hetty," she whispered. Hetty jumped about a mile and prayed that Mama wouldn't notice the book in such dim light. She hastily wiped away the tears on her cheeks which had come both from reading the story and from her disastrous day.
"Yes, Mama?"
"You need to be up early in the morning, dear, but I'm glad to see you enjoying your birthday gift so much."
Hetty cringed as her mother came closer. She could see the book! She could see that it was ruined! Hetty felt herself growing hysterical and she was toungue-tied as always. Mama took the novel out of her hands and ran her hand over the water-stiffened pages. "Hetty King," she began and Hetty burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. Eleanor was taken aback. Hetty rarely cried, especially in front of others.
"Mama, Mama....I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen! I love my book and you can imagine it's just as terrible for me. I meant to treasure it forever and I..I'm just so sorry about everything! I did everything wrong today." She gulped and twisted her strand of hair more fiercely than before. To Hetty's surprise, Eleanor knelt down and put her arms around her. Eleanor was not a demonstrative person, especially with children over the age of six.
"So am I," she said softly. "So am I. I've been asking you to do a great deal lately...but Hetty, listen to me, please." Hetty nodded as Eleanor pulled away and looked into her eyes. "I'm going to be needing your help more and more over the next seven months. Do you understand what I mean?" Hetty raised her eyebrows.
"Another baby? Aren't four of us enough?" she laughed through her tears.
"Yes, dear, another baby. And for the first time, you're old enough to be really helpful to me...now and after the baby is born. You are strong Hetty, always remember that. I can see your grandmother's spirit in you more and more each day. You are so like her, Hetty." This pleased the young girl, because not only was Elizabeth King a strong woman, she was also quite beautiful when she was young. Hetty knew she would never be beautiful, but it sounded nice.
"Thank-you, Mama," she sighed. "I'll try to be more helpful to you," she added, with new resolve gained from the example of the self-sacrificing March sisters.
"My darling little Hetty," Eleanor smiled, stroking her daughter's wavy hair. "I know I'll always be able to count on you." Her eyes took on a wistful, faraway look, as though she could see into the future.