32 Little Women Read By Stephanie Poppins

Following the female stoic theme, this novel focuses on love, family, morality, and personal growth.
Meg, the eldest, is drawn to marriage and domestic life.
Jo, the headstrong and tomboyish one, pursues her passion for writing.
Beth, the quiet and gentle one, finds solace in music and is tragically affected by illness.
Amy, the youngest and most artistic, navigates her path, ultimately finding success in the art world.

In this episode, there is a fork in the road.

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 18 continued.

Meg brooded over the letter while Jo set the sick room in order and Hannah knocked up a couple of pies in case of company unexpected.

A breath of fresh air seemed to blow through the house and something better than sunshine brightened the quiet rooms.

Everything appeared to feel the hopeful change.

Beth's bird began to chirp again and a half-blown rose was discovered on Amy's bush in the window.

The fire seemed to burn with unusual cheeriness and every time the girls met their pale faces broke into smiles as they hugged one another.

Mother's coming.

Everyone rejoiced but Beth.

She lay in that heavy stupor alike unconscious of hope and joy,

Doubt and anger.

It was a piteous sight.

The once rosy face so changed and vacant.

The once busy hands so weak and wasted.

The once smiling lips quite dumb and the once pretty well-kept hair scattered rough and tangled on the pillow.

All day she lay so rousing now and then to mutter water with lips so parched they could hardly shake the word.

And all day Jo and Meg hovered over her watching,

Waiting and hoping.

Then night came at last and every time the clock struck the sisters,

Still sitting on either side of the bed,

Looked at each other with brightening eyes.

For each hour brought help nearer.

The doctor had been in to say some change for better or worse would probably take place about midnight.

That time he would return.

Hannah quite worn out lay down on the sofa at the bed's foot and fell asleep.

Mr Lawrence marched to and fro in the parlour.

Laurie lay on the rug,

His dark eyes staring soft and clear.

And the girls kept their watch with a dreadful sense of powerlessness which comes in hours such as these.

If God spares Beth,

I'll never complain again,

Whispered Meg earnestly.

If God spares Beth,

I'll try to love and serve him all my life,

Answered Jo with equal fervour.

I wish I had no heart,

It aches so,

Sighed Meg after a pause.

Here the clock struck twelve and they forgot themselves in watching Beth for they fancied a change pass over her wan face.

The house was as still as death and nothing but the wailing of the wind broke the deep harsh.

Weary Hannah slept on and no one but the sisters saw the pale shadow which seemed to fall upon the little bed.

An hour went past and nothing happened except Laurie's quiet departure for the station.

Another hour,

Still no one came and anxious fears of delay in the storm or accidents or worst of all a great grief at Washington haunted the poor girls.

It was past two o'clock when Jo,

Who stood at the window thinking how dreary the world looked in its winding sheet of snow,

Heard a movement by the bed.

Turning quickly,

She saw Meg kneeling before her mother's easy chair with her face hidden.

A dreadful fear passed over her.

Beth must be dead and Meg's afraid to tell me.

She was back in her post in an instant but to her excited eyes a great change seemed to have taken place.

The fever flush and the look of pain were gone.

The beloved little face looked so pale and peaceful that Jo felt no desire to weep or lament.

Leaning over this dearest of her sisters,

She kissed the damp forehead with her heart on her lips and whispered,

Goodbye,

My Beth,

Goodbye.

As if waked by the stir,

Hannah started out of her sleep,

Hurried to the bed and looked at Beth.

She felt her hands,

Listened at her lips and then,

Throwing her apron over her head,

Sat down to rock to and fro.

The fevers turned,

She's sleeping natural,

Her skin's damp and she breathes easy.

Praise be given!

Before the girls could believe the happy truth,

The doctor came to confirm it.

He was a homely man but they thought his face quite heavenly when he smiled.

He said with a fatherly look,

Yes,

My dears,

I think the little girl will pull through.

Keep the house quiet,

Let her sleep and when she wakes up,

Give her.

But what they were to give they didn't hear for both crept into the dark hall and sitting on the stairs they held each other close,

Rejoicing with hearts too full for words.

When they went back to be kissed and coddled by Hannah,

They found Beth lying as she used to,

With her cheek pillowed on her hand,

The dreadful pallor gone and breathing quietly,

As if just fallen asleep.

If mother would only come now,

Said Jo,

As the winter night began to wane.

See,

Said Meg,

Coming up with a white half-opened rose,

I thought this would hardly be ready to lay in Beth's hand tomorrow,

But it's blossomed in the night and now I mean to put it in my vase so when the darling awakes the first thing she sees will be the little rose and then mother's face.

Never had the sun risen so beautifully and never had the world seemed so lovely as it did to the heavy eyes of Meg and Jo as they looked out in the early morning when their long sad vigil was done.

It looks like a fairy world,

Said Meg,

Smiling to herself as she stood behind the curtain watching the dazzling sight.

Hark!

Cried Jo,

Starting to her feet.

There was a sound of bells at the door below,

A cry from Hannah,

Then Laurie's voice saying in a joyful whisper,

Girls,

She's come,

She's come!

Chapter 19 Amy's Will While these things were happening at home,

Amy was having hard times at Aunt March's.

She felt her exile deeply and for the first time in her life realised how much she was beloved and petted at home.

Aunt March never petted anyone.

She did not approve of it but she meant to be kind for the well behaved little girl pleased her very much and Aunt March had a soft place in her old heart for her nephew's children.

She really did her best to make Amy happy but dear me the mistake she made.

Some old people keep young at heart in spite of wrinkles and grey hair but Aunt March had not this gift and she worried Amy very much with her rules and orders,

Prim ways and long prosy talks.

Finding the child more docile and amiable than her sister,

The old lady felt it her duty to try and counteract,

As far as possible,

The bad effects of home freedom and indulgence.

So she took Amy in hand and taught her as she herself had been taught 60 years ago,

A process which carried dismay to Amy's soul.

She had to wash the cups every morning and polish up the old fashioned spoons,

The fat silver teapot and the glasses till they shone.

Then she must dust the room and what a trying job that was.

Not a speck escaped Aunt March's eye and all the furniture had claw legs and much carving which was never dusted to suit.

But she was allowed one hour of exercise and didn't she enjoy that?

Laurie came every day and wheedled Aunt March till Amy was allowed to go out with him.

When they walked and rode they had capital times.

After dinner she was to read out loud and sit still while the old lady slept.

Then patchwork or towels appeared and Amy sewed with outward meekness and inward rebellion until dusk when she was allowed to amuse herself as she liked till tea time.

The evenings were the worst of all.

Aunt March fell to telling long stories about her youth.

They were so unutterably dull that Amy was all ready to go to bed.

If it had not been for Laurie and old Esther the maid she felt she never could have got through that dreadful time.

Esther was a French woman who'd lived with Madame,

As she called her mistress,

For many years.

Her real name was Estelle and Aunt March ordered her to change it and she obeyed on condition she was never asked to change her religion.

Estelle allowed Amy to roam about the great house and examine the curious and pretty things stored away in the big wardrobes and the ancient chests.

Aunt March hoarded like a magpie.

Amy's chief delight was an Indian cabinet full of queer drawers,

Pigeon holes and secret places.

To examine and arrange the things in it gave Amy great satisfaction,

Especially the jewel cases in which on velvet cushions reposed the ornaments which had adorned a bell forty years ago.

There was a garland set which Aunt March wore when she came out.

The pearls her father gave her on her wedding day.

Her lover's diamonds,

The jet mourning rings and pins and queer lockets with portraits of dead friends and weeping willows made of hair inside.

The baby bracelets her one little daughter had worn.

Uncle March's big watch with a red seal on so many childish hands it played with.

And in a box all by itself laid Aunt March's wedding ring,

Too small for her now but put carefully away like the most precious jewel of them all.

Which would Mamzelle choose if she had her will?

Asked Esther who already sat near to watch over and look up the valuables.

I like the diamonds best but there's no necklace among them and I'm fond of necklaces.

They're so becoming replied Amy.

I should choose this if I might.

She looked with great admiration at a string of gold and ebony beads from which hung a heavy cross of the same.

To me it is a rosary said Esther.

Is it meant to use as you use the string of good smelling wooden beads hanging over your glass?

Asked Amy.

Yes to pray with said Esther.

Then she went on to arrange a little dressing room for Amy whilst her mistress slept.

I wish I knew where all these pretty things would go when Aunt March dies said Amy as she slowly replaced the shining rosary and shut the jewel cases.

To you and your sisters said Esther.

To me and my sisters how nice.

Then Esther went on to tell her the first one a fiance of her sisters would have the pearls and she Amy would get the turquoise ring.

Do you think so?

Said Amy.

Oh I'll be a lamb if I can only have that lovely ring.

That ring is ever so much prettier than Kitty Bryant's.

I do like Aunt March after all.

She tried on the blue ring with a delightful face and at that moment she had a firm resolve to earn it.

From that day she was a model of obedience and the old lady complacently admired the success of her training.

Esther fitted up the closet with a little table.

She placed a footstool before it and over it a picture taken from one of the shut up rooms.

She borrowed it knowing Madam would never know nor care she did.

It was however a very valuable copy of one of the most famous pictures of the world and Amy's beauty loving eyes were never tired of looking up at the sweet face of the Divine Mother while tender thoughts of her own were busy at her heart.

On her dressing table she laid her little testament and hymn book.

She kept a vase always full of the best flowers Laurie brought her and there she came every day to sit alone thinking good thoughts and praying that dear God to preserve her sister.

The End