Little Women Lines--Amy/John Brooke

Meg: It’s so dreadful to be poor.

I don’t think it’s fair some girls have plenty of pretty things and other girls nothing at all.

Jo: Make our little sacrifices gladly?

Well I’m afraid I don’t.

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

Never! We’ll never surrender the ship!

Meg: Jo, no one was/ moaning.

I’ll try, but I do wish it could be like the old Christmases still. With oranges and things.

Jo begins to whistle

Jo! Don’t whistle, it’s so boyish!

Jo: Amy! That’s why I/ do it.

I detest rude/ unladylike girls!

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

If you can call Marmee and Hannah the public.

Jo: 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.

Were there very many presents?

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

And food?

Meg: What Hannah could do for breakfast alone was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

I hate this dreadful war.

Meg: Be brave, Amy? For Father?

Oh, alright, but it’s practicularitally unbearable.

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

I don’t want to be the old witch!

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

Fine.

Jo: Oh how jolly.

Don’t say ‘Jolly,’ Jo, it’s slang.

Beth: I’d hate to be shut up in that spooky big house.

He does seem sad, and gallant.

Beth: Waiting for his coach to come around?

Like a prince’s chariot!

Jo: Nonsense. He looks like a capital fellow.

A fine little gentleman, indeed.

Jo: Blast!

Don’t say ‘blast!’

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

Do you dance Miss March?

Meg: It really seems like being a fine young lady to come home from a party in a carriage and sit with someone waiting on me.

I don’t believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do. But I’m so jealous of you.

Meg: Oh, indeed?

He picked you up and whisked you off your feet? Like a little helpless feather.

Jo: Stop being silly about everything, featherhead.

Pincushion!

Jo: It’s no use going on about a boy.

He’s so very rich and we’re so very poor.

Meg: I know, doesn’t it make you bitter? The ball-gowns, and bouquets? And the way people gossip about Opera and Theatre. It seems unjust we shouldn’t have anything like that.

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

Meg: /You soiled yours with coffee. They’re so expensive and you’re so careless. Can’t you make them do?

(Also appearing in the attic) Why are you talking about gloves? Are you going somewhere? Let me go too! There’s nothing to do at home. I’m so lonely!

Jo; Meg! Sh!

You’re going somewhere with Laurie!

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

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

Jo: /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.

But I want to see the play! I’ve got my rag money!

Meg: Next week you can go with Beth and Hannah and have a nice time.

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

Jo: If she goes I shan’t! Come on, Meg!

You’ll be sorry for this, Jo March!

Beth:You can come downstairs and help Hannah and I get food and quilts together for the poor.

No.

Beth: You want to come play with my kittens? They’re all squirmy and fuzzy now.

No.

Jo: Amy, you’ve got it!

No I haven’t!

Jo: You know where it is then!

No I don’t!

Jo: That’s a fib!

It is not! I haven’t got it!

Meg: Josephine, stop!

I burnt it!

Everything stops

I burnt it up.

Jo: 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?

Yes I did! I told you I would make you pay.

Meg: And Amy, the only thing that makes those thoughts bearable is how much I love my sisters. You have to make this right, Amy. We’re all we have.

Meg exits

I’m sorry, Jo.

Jo: We’re just going to have to both drown as gentlemen then.

They skate. Their ribbons in the air. There’s laughter. Joy.

Elation.

Amy tries to keep up. Her ribbon faltering to and fro.

I’m coming, too! Slow down! Jo! Laurie! Wait!

Amy falls

Jo! Jo!

Jo: I’m sorry, Amy.

I’m sorry I burned your book!

Jo: No, don’t think about that, oh my Amy, I should have forgiven you, I almost lost you.

You have to write it again.

Jo: I’ll write it again, I was always going to write it again. I’m so wicked. Amy, I’m so sorry I didn’t forgive you, and I almost lost you.

But your writing, it means so much--

Jo: We all are here in perfect health,
One gone from our small band;
Again we see each well-known face,
And press each friendly hand.

(Acquiring the paper from Jo) Gentlemen! Our Mr. Tupman has, this week, written a short story!

Jo: Come on now, Beth!

Mr. Tupman.

Beth: It’s really not very good.

The History of a Squash: Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became a vine, and bore many squashes. One day in October, he picked one and took it to market where it was purchased by a little girl in a brown hat and blue dress.

Jo: Intriguing beginning. It reminds me of Jack and the Beanstalk.

I know, I hope something magical happens.

Jo: Perhaps this type of squash is a particular favorite of dragons and the little girl will have to ward off the beasts from her own doorstep.

Or an old woman cursed a prince to remain a squash until someone tries to cook him and then he’ll turn back into a man, and he’ll fall immediately, desperately in love with the little girl, and he’ll marry her and give her a hundred dresses!

Jo: Read on, Amy, I want to find out.

The little girl lugged it home, cut it up, and boiled it in the big pot; mashed some of it, with salt and butter, for dinner; and to the rest she added a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg, and some crackers; put it in a deep dish and baked it till it was brown; and the next day it was eaten.
...The End. (after a moment) Well. Nothing I thought was going to happen happened.

Jo: No, Beth!

Mr. Tupman.

Jo: Someday I’ll publish my stories in a real newspaper.

Do it now.

Jo: No, I--

Yes!

Beth: Send your stories to a real newspaper!

(With Beth) Real Newspaper! Real Newspaper! Real Newspaper!

Jo: No! No one-- I can’t, no one knows who Josephine March is yet, they’ll think I’m just some silly girl.

You could lie.

Jo: What are you saying, you little renegade?

I’m saying that they don’t have to get the story from Josephine March, do they, Mr. Snodgrass?

Jo: You’re both a great deal more conniving than I give you credit for, you know? Oh, it’s a capital idea!

I wish Meg were here. I’m sure she would agree.

Beth: She’s probably having a lovely time.

Without us, yes.

Jo: It is hard to get larks without her here.

Don’t say ‘Larks!’

Jo: I wish I was more surprised by that, but some time back she mentioned him, too.

(Entering) Jo! Laurie! You have to come back home.

Jo: What is it?

Mother received a telegram. She has to go away immediately!

Beth: Come to think of it, something odd is happening with Amy and Laurie, as well.

Ma Chere Mama,
Laurie is not as respectful as he ought to be now that I am almost in my teens. He calls me “chick.” And he hurts my feelings by talking French very fast every time I say “Merci” or “Bon jour.”

Jo: With Love, Topsy-Turvey Jo.

Your Affectionate Daughter, Amy Curtis March.

Beth: The doctor said it was Scarlet Fever. Marmee, I feel so strange.

Beth transforms into Laurie

They’re sending me away. Meg and Jo had the fever when they were babies, but I never had it. Laurie! They’re sending me away.

Laurie: Bless your heart. It’s to keep you well. If you stay here with Beth... you don’t want to be sick, do you?

No.

Laurie: Scarlet Fever is no joke, Amy.

But it’s dull at Aunt March’s.

Laurie: It won’t be dull. I will come every day. I will take you away. We’ll go driving and walking every day.

Promise?

Laurie: I promise.

Will you take me out trotting on the wagon with your pony?

Laurie: On my honor as a gentleman.

Promise?

Laurie: Promise.

And will you bring me back the minute Beth is well?

Laurie: The identical minute.

Do you promise me?

Jo: Bah! You’re a rogue! Go bother someone else!

Scene: The question is settled

Amy and Meg put Joanna down and change into costumes

Sir Hugo, with immense gratitude for your unfaltering gallantry, I give you all the stores of magic in my fairy kingdom.

Meg: My Fairy Queen, I am humbled by your generosity, and I would be a fool not to accept your gift, but I am afraid all the magic your kingdom holds cannot come near giving me what I desire most.

But my powers are everything I have to give you.

Meg: Not everything. Dear, beautiful Queen of the Fairies. I have admired your strength, your beauty, your impeccable character, for many days and nights as we have traveled together banishing evils from our lands. And I am afraid, I have fallen in love with you.

Oh Hugo.

Meg: I love you. Please my queen, do me this great honor, and give me your hand in marriage.

Hugo!

Meg: It’s what I desire. It is what I desire more than magic.

Yes Sir Hugo I--I--oh.

Meg: What is wrong, my queen, my love?

My magic, it wanes! I feel weak.

Meg: My darling!

It can only be for one reason. It must be that--

Jo: You know what the doctor said about your heart.

You’re still unwell.

Jo: I don’t understand where you are going.

Mr. Brooke is coming to take her for a walk. Out on the lane, where lovers walk with their arms laced together/

Jo: /Good work, Amy, I’ll buy you a pickled lime.

He wrote and asked if he could take her this morning and Mother and Father gave their consent.

Jo: So why would you want to leave us now?

I don’t want Meg to leave.

Meg: You will have to start growing up soon, too, you know. Maybe it won’t be marriage, for you, maybe you’re right, but it will have to be something, Jo, and I suggest you think about what that something is!

I’m so sorry, I really apologize, I came in, I heard voices up here.

Meg: /Hello, John.

I came to get my umbrella. I mean, that is-- to see if your father finds himself well today.

Jo: It’s very well, and he’s in the rack.

He’s in the--?

Meg: Mother would like to see you, shall we go find her?

No, don’t-- don’t go. Are you afraid of me, Meg?

Meg: How can I be afraid of you when you have been so kind? To father, to mother, to me. I only wish I knew how to thank you for it.

Shall I tell you how?

Meg: Oh no, please don’t. I’d rather not.

I won’t trouble you. I only want to know if you care for me a little, Meg. Meg. Meg, I love you so much.

Meg: I don’t know.

Will you... try to find out?

Meg: John, I’m too- You are very kind. You are so very kind, and lovely, and kind... but I agree with father and I am too young to enter into.. So we should continue to just be--be... I’m too young, father says I’m too-- I’m too young.

I’ll wait. Is that alright? Perhaps you could learn to like me. I could teach you to, I love to teach. It would be easier than teaching Laurie German.

Laurie: (putting his feelings into a long low whistle) Mark my words, Jo, you’ll go next.

Laurie changes into Beth

You do look just like our own dear Meg, only so sweet and lovely that I should hug you if it wouldn’t crumple your hair.

Jo: The Pickwick Portfolio will be in a shabby state without our own Mr. Pickwick here to be in charge.

And you won’t catch me playing Sir Hugo, I’ve become attached to the fairy queen.

Jo: We’ll miss you as well, Meg.

Very much.

Beth: Dear Jo,
Merry Christmas. It’s empty here without you. I’m empty here without you. No, I can’t write that...

Dear Beth,
I’m so sorry I haven’t written home in a little while. I have been a tad distracted. France is really the best place to become a better artist. I study my art everyday, and I am getting better. I am. I am getting better. Here: I am including an illustration I did of a street scene (she indicates the balloon), look at them all. Haughty English, Lively French, Sober Germans, Handsome Spaniards. Just all manner of people to know, and see, and draw! (Amy ties off that balloon and begins another) I’m trying to do one of the palm trees along the seaside, and the orange orchards in the distance on Christmas Day. Christmas in Nice doesn’t look the same as it did back in Concord, that’s for sure...It certainly doesn’t look picturesque in this awful painting! (Amy let’s the balloon fly away)

Beth: Dear Jo,
Merry Christmas. I’ve been keeping a secret from you, Jo. I’ve tried to continue with my duties, but I’m selfish, Jo, I can’t help it. I need you, and I wish you would come home. And. I can’t write that.

Don’t give up! We can do this. Let’s try something else. (Amy blows up a balloon) Here is the Promenade de Anglais lined with hotels and villas. Lined...with perfect hotels and villas.... lined with... Arrrrrrrg. It’s no use. But it’s fine. I can make you something else. I can draw you... (Amy blows up a balloon) Jo. Wearing her writing cap late at night. A pen in her hand. Ink on her finger. Concentrated expression. Genius burns.

Laurie: Thank you, Miss March. It is a beautiful drawing. And it looks just the way I remember her.

Laurie?

Jo: Oh.

What do you intend to do?

Laurie: Smoke a cigarette if you will allow me.

How provoking you are, but I will allow you if you will let me put it in a sketch.

Laurie: Naturally.

(Amy slowly blows up a balloon at intervals) You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on a tomb.

Laurie: I wish I was.

What a foolish wish. You are so changed.

Laurie: It’s alright.

I fancied you might have wasted money in Paris and lost your heart to some charming married Frenchwoman. Don’t stay over there in the sun; come, and lie on my lap here.

Laurie: Do you have secrets to tell me.

No.