Chapter X: Family Changes (3)

_January 1st_, 1880.--A sad day mourning for May. Of all the
trials in my life I never felt any so keenly as this, perhaps
because I am so feeble in health that I cannot bear it well. It
seems so hard to break up that happy little home and take May
just when life was richest, and to leave me who had done my task
and could well be spared. Shall I ever know why such things
happen?

Letters came telling us all the sad story. May was unconscious
during the last weeks, and seemed not to suffer. Spoke now and
then of "getting ready for Louy," and asked if she had come. All
was done that love and skill could do, but in vain. E. is
broken-hearted, and good Madame N. and Sophie find their only
solace in the poor baby.

May felt a foreboding, and left all ready in case she died. Some
trunks packed for us, some for the N. sisters. Her diary written
up, all in order. Even chose the graveyard where she wished to
be, out of the city. E. obeys all her wishes sacredly.

Tried to write on "J. and J." to distract my mind; but the wave
of sorrow kept rolling over me, and I could only weep and wait
till the tide ebbed again.

_February._--More letters from E. and Madame N. Like us, they
find comfort in writing of the dear soul gone, now there is
nothing more to do for her. I cannot make it true that our May is
dead, lying far away in a strange grave, leaving a husband and
child whom we have never seen. It all reads like a pretty
romance, now death hath set its seal on these two happy years;
and we shall never know all that she alone could tell us.

Many letters from friends in France, England, and America, full
of sympathy for us, and love and pride and gratitude for May,
who was always glad to help, forgive, and love every one. It is
our only consolation now.

Father and I cannot sleep, but he and I make verses as we did
when Marmee died. Our grief seems to flow into words. He writes
"Love's Morrow" and "Our Madonna."

Lulu has gone to Baden with Grandmamma.

Finish "J. and J." The world goes on in spite of sorrow, and I
must do my work. Both these last serials were written with a
heavy heart,--"Under the Lilacs" when Marmee was failing, and
"Jack and Jill" while May was dying. Hope the grief did not get
into them.

Hear R. W. E. lecture for his one hundredth time. Mary Clemmer
writes for a sketch of my life for a book of "Famous Women."
Don't belong there.

Read "Memoirs of Madame de Rémusat." Not very interesting.
Beauties seldom amount to much. Plain Margaret Fuller was worth a
dozen of them. "Kings in Exile," a most interesting book, a very
vivid and terrible picture of Parisian life and royal weakness
and sorrow.

Put papers, etc., in order. I feel as if one should be ready to
go at any moment....

_March._--A box came from May, with pictures, clothes, vases, her
ornaments, a little work-basket, and, in one of her own sepia
boxes, her pretty hair tied with blue ribbon,--all that is now
left us of this bright soul but the baby, soon to come. Treasures
all.

A sad day, and many tears dropped on the dear dress, the blue
slippers she last wore, the bit of work she laid down when the
call came the evening Lulu was born. The fur-lined sack feels
like May's arms round me, and I shall wear it with pleasure. The
pictures show us her great progress these last years.

To Boston for a few days on business, and to try to forget. Got
gifts for Anna's birthday on the 16th,--forty-nine years old. My
only sister now, and the best God ever made. Repaired her house
for her.

Lulu is not to come till autumn. Great disappointment; but it is
wiser to wait, as summer is bad for a young baby to begin here.

_29th._--Town meeting. Twenty women there, and voted first,
thanks to Father. Polls closed,--in joke, we thought, as Judge
Hoar proposed it; proved to be in earnest, and _we_ elected a
good school committee. Quiet time; no fuss.

JANUARY 20, 1880.

DEAR MRS. DODGE,--I have been so bowed down with grief at the
loss of my dear sister just when our anxiety was over that I have
not had a thought or care for anything else.

The story is done; but the last chapters are not copied, and I
thought it best to let them lie till I could give my mind to the
work.

I never get a good chance to do a story without interruption of
some sort. "Under the Lilacs" was finished by my mother's bedside
in her last illness, and this one when my heart was full of care
and hope and then grief over poor May.

I trust the misery did not get into the story; but I'm afraid it
is not as gay as I meant most of it to be.

I forgot to number the pages of the last two chapters, and so
cannot number these. I usually keep the run, but this time sent
off the parcel in a hurry. Can you send me the right number to go
on with in chapter seventeen? I can send you four more as soon as
I hear.

I don't believe I shall come to New York this winter. May left
me her little daughter for my own; and if she comes over soon, I
shall be too busy singing lullabies to one child to write tales
for others, or go anywhere, even to see my kind friends.

A sweeter little romance has just ended in Paris than any I can
ever make; and the sad facts of life leave me no heart for
cheerful fiction.

Yours truly,
L. M. ALCOTT.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] This poem was first published anonymously in "The Masque of Poets," in 1878.

[13] In Spinning-Wheel Stories.

[14] Under the Lilacs.

[15] Under the Lilacs, page 78.

[16] Gardener's Daughter.

[17] This interesting picture is in the possession of her sister.