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"Margaret."
Meg stirred at the sound of John's voice but didn't open her eyes. "Hmm?"
"Margaret, darling." His voice was no less gentle, but his tone, conveying some more urgency than before, caused Meg to open her eyes and turn in bed to face her husband. She breathed in deeply once, trying to push the sleep from her mind. It had been a long night with the twins.
"Yes, what's the matter?"
It took a moment for him to respond, but when he did, he said, "I heard you speaking with Sallie Moffat today."
Meg blinked, not at all sure where this was going.
"About her estate," John added, as if that would change her memory of the day's proceedings, which she happened to remember quite clearly.
Jo had volunteered to stay with Daisy and Demi at the house to give Meg and John a chance to go into town for a few hours. "A respite for the weary," her sister had proclaimed good-naturedly when she'd just appeared at their door that morning.
Not one to pass up such kindness, the new parents had stopped at the market first. Then John had gone off to purchase some stationary they were low on, and Meg had wandered down to a flower stand that was set up near the bakery.
There she had run into Sallie. They had first discussed how the twins were doing, before speaking at length of the advantages and disadvantages of buying flowers from the market versus cutting them from your own garden. Meg had said she generally preferred using her own garden as she enjoyed the sense of accomplishment she felt while seeing them on the table. Sallie, having the larger estate, naturally liked being able to buy them from the market so she could have more variety and fill up all her rooms.
Both women eventually agreed that each had its own merits just as John was coming around, and they had gone home soon after with cordial goodbyes and promises to visit the other after Daisy and Demi were a little older.
Why John would care about that conversation was a mystery to Meg. Either she was only half awake, and her brain wasn't properly understanding, or her husband just was not making any sense. Either way, she began dozing off to sleep again, promising herself to discuss it in the morning, when John spoke again, asking, "Does it bother you very much that we are not rich like your friend?"
The question was like a douse of cold water on Meg, and any desire for sleep immediately fled her body. Her eyes popped open, and although it was dark, she could see the outline of John's form as he turned from her and laid on his back to face the ceiling.
At first, Meg was speechless, so completely thrown off guard by the question, was she. It briefly crossed her mind again that perhaps she was misunderstanding, but the question was too plain to misunderstand, and the genuine concern in her husband's voice confirmed his intent twice over.
"Why are you asking me that?" After the words left her mouth in a whisper, Meg realized that perhaps the first thing she should have replied with was no, but it was dark, and it was late, and she was not in the necessary level of consciousness to consider decorum.
She had always felt safe in bed, and the hushed conversations between her and her husband previously had always been that of dreamers, light and warm and filled with laughter. This line of conversation had her feeling unsettled.
Instead of answering why John went on, and his words made Meg realize this wasn't just the late-night ramblings of a man in need of sleep, but something he had obviously been thinking about for quite some time. "It's just that, everyone always said you could have married into more money."
"By everyone, do you mean Jo?" Meg prodded sharply, wondering if her sister had said something untoward while she was out of the room. It wouldn't have surprised her in the least. "Because she is the only one who I've heard say anything of the sort save for my aunt, and you already know how I feel about Aunt March's opinion."
"Jo has said something about this?" John asked, voice strained.
Seeing how her prompt replies were doing nothing to improve the situation, Meg delayed her response this time, seeking the darkness for an answer.
Suddenly feeling as though the space from John was more like a gulf between them than the mere inches that it really was, Meg lifted the blanket covering them both and scooted closer. John audibly took a deep breath and with a little coaxing, turned to face her once more.
Nose to nose, breaths intermingling, Meg finally replied. "Jo has said so many things about anything and everything. But this isn't about my sister or anyone else saying something really, is it? How long has this thought been bothering you?"
There was no pause this time, and Meg liked to think that with them this close together, they were as one, giving strength to the other. "Some time," John admitted.
"Have I done something recently to make you think I care about that?" Meg asked, her mind racing through the past months, trying to find where she had been in error. The last thing she could think of was with that blasted violet silk, and that had been well over a year ago, not long after they'd married.
"No, no, of course not."
"Then why would you ever think such a thing?" she asked in distress, voice rising in volume. "I know when I was younger, I had such foolish thoughts-"
"It's really not-" John tried to interrupt, although Meg needed to finish.
"But that is of no importance to me."
There was a beat, then, "Truly?"
"Truly." Her voice had returned to a whisper, mindful of the babies not sleeping far away, but she put all her heart into her response, trying to convey how very much she meant it.
"When I overheard you speaking with Sallie in town and about how much property Ned Moffat has... the thought crossed my mind that you would love a large house and would look so very at home among all those nice things."
"John, I married you."
He sighed as if the idea pained him. "Yes, I'm quite aware of that." And since John was in pain, Meg was pained as well, as if he thought her marrying him had been such a great sacrifice.
"No, you're not understanding." She moved her forehead so it rested against his, and she closed her eyes. "I married you, not any money you do or do not have, or any property you do or do not own." Her voice was firm as she willed him to understand. "Sallie, well, I do not know whether or not she married for love as I did, but I surely hope she has the same happiness that I have with you."
She went to pull back and habitually John's arm which had been resting in the space between them, reached out to draw her closer, and Meg tucked her head under his chin, the rough scruff of his beard brushing against her cheek as she did so.
How it was possible for something to become so familiar and entwined in her very being in such a short period of time was beyond her comprehension. However, here she felt the safest and most cherished she ever had in her twenty-two years.
"Promise that in the future you will let me know when something concerns you so that we can take care of it right away and not let it fester."
"I promise... Perhaps I wasn't thinking soundly," John admitted.
"You most certainly weren't," Meg assured him.
She felt his chest rise with a huff of laughter. "I am so very lucky to have a wife to keep my head on straight." They laid there in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Then John added, "And have I told you lately how happy I am you agreed to marry me?"
"We each help the other see straight. It took enough time for me to realize the perfect man was right in front of me. I really am sorry it took so long."
"It didn't take too long at all," John promised. "For how could something take too long if it got us right where we were meant to be?"
His words of assurance caused Meg's heart to lighten. "Very true. I suppose it was just the perfect length then..." she murmured, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
Hearing the yawn in her voice anyway, John shifted them in bed so that he was on his back again, and Meg was resting against his chest. One hand rested on her back, and the other lay atop hers. "Precisely. Although I won't pretend waiting was easy while not knowing if you felt the same way, I became a better man, a better husband for it."
"The best father," Meg added on an exhale, letting sleep overcome her once more.
"And you the best mother," John whispered, although he doubted Meg had heard him, her breath evening out as did his own soon after.
And they both fell into a restful and content sleep in their perfect bed, in their perfect house, on their perfect land. Not perfect because it was the largest or most expensive, but perfect because it was built with love and was all theirs.