Little Women Lines--Jo

*Start of the show*

Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.

Beth: We’ve got father and mother and each other.

We haven’t got father and shall not have him for a long time. Perhaps nev--

Meg: Shh! It is going to be a hard winter for everyone with the war on. We ought to--

Make our little sacrifices gladly?

Amy: Well I’m afraid I don’t.

Come on, we have to work! We have to make fun for ourselves!

*Jo takes up a “weapon” and perhaps a costume piece or two. She is now the dreaded pirate, Captain Bartholomew.*

Surrender you mutinous scum, or I’ll send you all to Davy Jone’s locker!

Beth: He most certainly is NOT!

*An epic, daring, sea battle occurs, various objects around the attic suddenly become weapons. Beth falls first.*

No!

Beth: Go on without me!

*Soon it becomes clear that Jo is, indeed outnumbered and as she begins to falter, the small band of pirates dissolves into the giggling of girls in an attic.*

Now we can all stop our moaning.

Amy: Jo! Don’t whistle, it’s so boyish!

Amy! That’s why I/ do it.

Amy: I detest rude/ unladylike girls!

And I hate affected niminy-piminy chits!

Beth (singing): Birds in their little nests agree!

*Jo begins to hand out props or create the general theatrical scene*

No more sea battles, we have to get on with the important stuff. Where were we, I think Act 3? The witch appears in the castle hall! Coming to free the lovers and finish Hugo!

Beth: Are you going to write this story into your book as well, Jo?

I haven’t yet, but I may. We’ll see how the public responds to it on stage first!

Beth: You must put it in your book! It’s a lovely fairy tale. You’re such a wonderful writer!

I hope so, it’s the only thing I’m good at. Can’t sew, or bake beautifully like you. Or play the piano the way you do. My only hope is to become a fabulous writer, then I will bring the March family back into a stately state. Christmas will be like the old days.

Amy: Were there very many presents?

One year the sock I hung near the fire place fell down, it was crammed with so many presents!

Amy: Oh, alright, but it’s practicularitally unbearable.

I’m telling you, when I’m published I’ll fix it. We’ll have more money than we know what to do with.

Beth: It’s not just about money, Jo. People should read your stories.

Alright! Alright! I’ll put it in the book.

Meg: Josephine, it’s true. You possess a wonderful imagination, but Amy’s right, you’re too old to be boyish, you should remember you are a young lady.

(Ignoring her sister) Here Meg, you play Hugo. Amy you can be the witch.

Amy: I don’t want to be the old witch!

Maybe I’ll make her turn into a princess later.

Amy: Fine.

Beth do you want to be the lady or the knight, I am happy to let you choose, although I would really like it if you played the Lady. It’s not that I don’t like her, she’s noble enough, but I really like having a sword. Beth? Which one? Beth?

*Beth stares out the window into the snow.*

Beth, is there a problem?

Beth: No there’s a boy. In the big house.

Oh how jolly.

Amy: Like a prince’s chariot!

Nonsense. He looks like a capital fellow.

Amy: A fine little gentleman, indeed.

They watch for a moment. Suddenly Laurie turns his attention from below directly toward the window and all four little faces staring at him. They all notice this. They all react a second too late. Like a tiny waterfall, all girls heads duck down toward the attic floor.

(Amid laughter/with other women) We’re sunk!

(After chatter ceases) Blast!

Meg: Well, perhaps he’ll be at the New Year’s Dance.

I had almost forgotten about that worthless party!

Meg: I hadn’t! What shall we wear?

What’s the use asking that? We shall wear our poplins. We haven’t got anything else.

Meg: If only I had silk!

The silk industry is abhorrent, Meg, they use slaves, and little children in their factories.

Meg: But-

No. Oh drat!

Meg: What?

I forgot, my Poplin is burnt. In the back.

*Jo continues to hide the back of her skirt. This is a small weird pantomime, the results of which are backing directly into Laurie who is also hiding himself from the crowd.*

Oh! I didn’t--I didn’t know--

Laurie: Don’t mind me, hide here if you like.

Will I disturb you?

Laurie: No, I--I only came here because I don’t know many people and I felt...rather strange, at first, you know.

I do know.

Laurie: I think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you before. In a window perhaps? You live near us don’t you? Next door?

Window? I...we don’t have windows. I mean. No. Yes! We do live next door. My sisters and I. And Marmee, and Hannah, and Father would but he’s away at war. Oh, and I have a pet rat who lives in the attic. His name is Scrabble.

Laurie: And how is Scrabble, Miss March?

He is extremely well, thank you Mr. Lawrence, but I’m not “Miss March,” I’m only Jo.

Laurie: I’m not “Mr. Lawrence,” I’m only Laurie.

Laurie Lawrence?

Laurie: My first name is Theodore, but I don’t like it. The fellows called me “Dora,” so I made them call me “Laurie” instead.

I hate my name too. I wish everyone would call me “Jo” instead of “Josephine.”

John: (From the other side of the party to Meg) Do you dance Miss March?

*Meg takes her John Brooke’s hand. They begin to dance.*

Do you dance, Laurie?

Laurie: Sometimes, but I don’t know the fashion yet here. I’ve been abroad--

Abroad!

Laurie: Yes, at school in Vevay, or spending Winter in Paris.

I would kill someone to see Paris. Do you speak French?

Laurie: Oui.

Say something.

Laurie: Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis?

Alright...um...you said, “who is the young lady in the pretty slippers?”

Laurie: Oui, mademoiselle.

That’s my sister, Meg.

Laurie: Ah.

Do you think she’s pretty?

Laurie: Yes. She’s very pretty. She dances like a lady.

You should see her tromp around as Sir Hugo, if you think she’s such a lady.

Laurie: Sorry?

Nothing. I suppose you’re going to college soon.

Laurie: Not for a year or two. I’m only sixteen.

How I wish I was going to college!

Laurie: I can’t see myself enjoying it very much. I’d much rather go to Italy and live in my own way.

What on earth is “living in your own way?”

*Laurie doesn’t answer*

For me...it means being a writer. I wouldn’t have to live in Italy, but I could. Or France. Or Germany. Or India!

Laurie: Do you write, then?

All the time! I’m writing my first novel, actually!

Laurie: Aren’t you marvelous? A lady writer.

I know it sounds impossible.

Laurie: No, there are a few lady writers.

Only a few.

Laurie: I might not make a fool of myself in a fast dance, will you come?

No.

Laurie: Oh. I understand.

No! It’s not you. I can’t.

Laurie: Too clumsy? Will you trip over everything?

Stop it! No. I have a trick of standing too close to the fire and I burn my frocks.

*She shows him the burn on her dress.*

You can laugh. It’s funny.

Meg: Jo, help, I’ve sprained my ankle.

I knew you would hurt your feet in those silly shoes!

Meg: I can hardly stand.

I don’t see what you can do but get a carriage or stay here all night.

Meg: Stop being silly about Laurie.

*Jo enters the scene.*

Stop being silly about everything, featherhead.

Amy: Pincushion!

Pipsqueak!

Meg: Honestly!

It’s no use going on about a boy.

Amy: Yes. But maybe we will have those things someday, Meg.

Well, I don’t plan to wait around on my soft behind for it! No offense, Meg.

Meg: What in the world are you going to do now?

Going for exercise!

Meg: You were out for two walks already this morning!

I can’t stay in all day dozing by the fire like a pussycat.

*Pilgrim 4 as Laurie somewhere else on the stage. Jo comes around.*

How do you do! Are you sick?

Laurie: A cold. Been cooped up all day! It’s dull as tombs in here!

Have someone come see you then!

Laurie: There isn’t anyone I would like to see. Boys makes such a row.

Isn’t there some nice girl who’d read and amuse you?

Laurie: Don’t know any.

You know me.

Laurie: So I do!

So you do.

Laurie: Will you read me something you have written?

Ha! Not a chance.

Laurie: I should like to hear it. What do you write about, anyhow?

Oh, nothing.

Laurie: Nothing?

Nothing that would interest someone lying around in bed all day. I write--I write about adventures. And danger. And who I want to be.

Scene: JO MEETS APOLLYON IN THE ATTIC.

*Pilgrim 1 as Jo is all alone. She has been writing.*

Sir Hugo stands, back against the precipice! His hair blows freely in the wind like a lion’s mane!

No.

Sir Hugo stands, facing the dark cave, the smell of dampness in his lungs, hair clinging to his face with beads of dew and sweat.

Quietly, without warning, like a figure emerging from hell, the witch appears…

Meg: Jo!

Marmee, help!/ Oh

Beth: (Also appearing in the attic) Marmee’s not here. She went to bring food to the Hummels, some of the children are sick and they’re hungry. I want to go over later to help her.

That’s--I don’t really need Marmee, Beth, I was just startled. You’re always with the Hummels.

Meg: It’s terrible. And so good of you and Marmee to be so kind. Jo, I came to ask you what on earth we are going to do about your gloves for the evening.

Oh, that’s right. /I’ve soiled mine with coffee.

Meg: I can’t, dear, because you aren’t invited.

Meg! Sh!

Amy: You’re going somewhere with Laurie!

You can’t go, Amy, so don’t be a baby!

Amy: Are you going to the theatre?/ Please let me go!

/No, Amy, Laurie didn’t get you a seat. It would be rude to ask him to pay for another one! You’re so worried about being fashionable. Even Marmee told you you’re getting conceited.

Amy: But I want to go with you and Jo and Laurie!

No! Amy, you’re acting like a spoiled little child!

Meg: Suppose we take her, I’m sure it would be alright.

If she goes I shan’t! Come on, Meg!

Beth: Alright. We’ll be downstairs if you need us.

*Beth exits*

*Amy stares at the manuscript Jo left behind*

*she picks it up and exits*

*a little time passes*

*perhaps we hear merriment of Jo and Meg coming home*

*Jo and Meg enter the attic.*

Imps and elves and princes and princesses!

Meg: It’s just the sort of thing you write about! Did you like it?

Perfect play.

Meg: Laurie is kind to have taken us.

Yes. Well he’s a good chap.

Meg: Yes.

The fairy queen was beautiful. I want a fairy queen in my stories. I think she can get Sir Hugo out of his current scrape with the witch.

Meg: Well, I’m going to bed.

I always mean to go to bed, and then I stay up all night writing. I have so many ideas! Late at night, Meg, I have absolute fits of writing. And I give myself up to it with entire abandon. My imaginary world is full of friends as real and dear to me as any in the real world.

Meg: You will be a writer, Jo. I know it.

I hope so. I don’t know if I’m any good.

Meg: What? But-

I know. I write all the time, and I don’t know if I’m any good. Isn’t that funny? But I want it, Meg. I want it to be good.

Meg: Jo. You will be a writer.

I hope you’re right. I want to publish it. Then I could buy you things, Meg! I can get you new lace gloves whenever you want!

Meg: Get yourself gloves! Or stop drinking coffee.

If I stopped eating and drinking everything I spilled I would be down to dry bread and water. Plus, father will be proud.

Meg: Of what?

My book.

Meg: Of course he will be.

Do you…

Meg: Yes, I know so. He’ll absolutely beam when he comes home from the war to his published authoress.

No, do you know where it is?

Meg: Where is what?

My book!

Meg: Where did you leave it?

Here. Beth? Amy?

Beth: (Emerging into the attic) Did you have just a magical time? Were the lights bright, did they make your eyes tired?Were the actresses lovely?

There was a fairy princess, Beth! You’ll see her when you go next week with Amy and Hannah. Her curls are so, so bountiful, abundant, they were... beautiful.

Beth: Your hair is beautiful.

Ha, my hair is my ONE beauty. No, she’s the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I want to write her into my story.

Beth: Sir Hugo and the fairy princess!

*Amy enters the attic*

That’s-- I want to but I can’t find my manuscript. Has anyone taken my book?

Beth/Meg: No.

Amy?

…

Amy? Do you have it?

…

Amy, you’ve got it!

Amy: No I haven’t!

You know where it is then!

Amy: No I don’t!

That’s a fib!

Amy: It is not! I haven’t got it!

You know something about it. Tell me! Tell me or I’ll make you!

Amy: I burnt it!

*All action halts*

I burnt it up.

You burnt it up? My little book? Amy I, have been working on it for months. I-I was hoping to have finished it before father got home-from fighting. Did you really? Did you really burn it up?

Meg: Oh, Amy.

You are wicked. I’ll never write it again. And I’ll never forgive you.

Laurie: I’ll skate up around the first bend and see if it’s alright.

Why should you get to go scout out the ice?

Laurie: Because I’m the gentleman and you’re the lady.

Ha, so you say. You’re just scared you will lose again. You want to get a good look at the ice before we race.

Laurie: That’s funny, I remember you losing.

Yesterday I beat you by a nose three times in a row.

Laurie: Did we decide that was true? Because I seem to recall being undefeated all Winter. It’s my superior masculine strength. And natural affinity for ice skating.

You’re a rascal. I’ll go scout the ice to make sure it’s safe.