Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jo sighed. The only other sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Her breathing seemed far too loud in her own ears. It was a rare quiet hour, the lull in boarding house activity that she liked to come to take lessons in. The rumble of Fried- Mr. Bhaer's voice would fill the quiet on a usual day, but he had stepped out before their lesson to run a very quick errand. Jo glanced at the clock again. It had been ten minutes. Sighing, she rested her chin on her hand and glanced over her work again. She had tried her very hardest to conjugate the verbs correctly without her chart in front of her, with questionable success. She hoped he didn't mind the many inkblots that littered the page.

Jo fiddled with her pen, watching the seconds tick by, humming to herself in an attempt to reign in her impatience. My humming is awful. Friedrich- Mr. Bhaer- has better pitch. She smiled. Sometimes she still heard him in the parlor humming that same song: Kennst du das Land…

He lingered on that melody before he proceeded with the rest. Do you know the land…

She wondered where he thought of when he dwelled for so long on that line. To Jo, the land appeared hazy and dreamlike in her imagination; somewhere familiar and yet strange, as if she had not been there quite yet. It held the quiet promise that she would someday.

It also seemed like someplace with trees. Maybe it was the lemon tree part that brought that image to mind.

Jo checked the door again, listening for footsteps in the hallway. She wished Mr. Bhaer would be back soon, she couldn't stand much more waiting. "Goodness, I should do something productive instead of thinking in circles about it," Jo shook her head at herself and pulled a loose piece of paper from her notebook. "I should write a letter home." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. She could write about how far she'd come with her German lessons. Then again… she glanced at the blotted paper again. Maybe she wouldn't mention that, she decided, turning it over to the blank side so she wouldn't have to look at it. Marmee forwarded some of her letters to Amy, who was fluent in French now. Jo's own attempts at learning another language would seem pathetic. Maybe she could write about their day in the park yesterday. They brought all five of the kids- the Kirke kids, Tina, Franz, and Emil- and made a day of it.

Wow, I spend a lot of time with Mr. Bhaer. All of my letters have been very very Bhaer-y.

She couldn't help it. He was fun to spend the hour with, the day, maybe even an entire life. Now, where did that thought come from? Jo wondered, bewildered. It was… true. If he ever did get married, he could make some lucky woman very happy. He had a way of making the person he was talking to feel important. Something in his kind eyes, the way he would look at her intently, seriously. There was an immense comfort in it, especially after a visit to the editor's office, where the men's gazes would slide right over her and she fought to keep their attention. The society women and the aspiring social climbers would turn up their noses to her on the street after a quick up and down that revealed all of her shortcomings through sleeve length, posture, language, and an array of other details.

Not to mention what happened when he became very passionate about what he was talking about. The thought of it made her happy again. That smile would make the corners of his eyes crinkle and his broken English sounded like poetry. Then he would roll his sleeves up to his elbows exposing his arms- the same strong arms that carried two exhausted children home from the park yesterday- that he offered to her to hold when they walked down the sidewalks slick with ice- that would brush hers when they sat so close together here during her lessons.

Oh yes, Mrs. Bhaer would be an exceedingly lucky woman.

Her eyes turned to the paper, heat rising in her face. When she lifted her hand to grab the pen, it was like watching someone else from a spot in the air. She scrawled her first name. With one last glance at the door, her next thought was, it can't hurt.

She stared down at the words, Jo Bhaer.

It looked slightly wrong. Well, it's not my last name, I guess that makes sense. But maybe… Jo scooted the paper closer and tried to emulate the fancy flowing script Meg used to write 'Mrs. Brooke' in her journal. She had shaken her head then, but she hadn't known this could be so… fun. Mrs. Jo Bhaer.

Better. Jo covered her mouth to muffle her giddy laughter. Maybe his last name wasn't so awful. She actually didn't mind it now. Before she could think about stopping this ridiculousness, she was writing again. Josephine Bhaer. Her name looked almost… elegant! She wrote it again with more flair this time.

Josephine Bhaer

Mrs. Josephine Bhaer

"Mrs. Josephine Bhaer," she whispered under her breath, giggling. The door hinges creaked and she felt as if she had swallowed ice.

"Apologies, Mees Marsch, for taking so long. You are ready still?"

"Professor! I- um…" Jo flipped the paper over, planning on pretending she got a blank page out for notes, before spotting her inkblots. Oh no. She'd been doodling on the back of the wrong paper!

"I see you haf done your practice," he said, looking so pleased with her as he sat down that Jo was suddenly caught between pride and mortification.

"It's not very good," she blurted. "So maybe I should keep it."

"It's alright," the kind professor reassured her. "It is practice. I will look it over and see what you understand thus far."

He reached for the paper, and Jo scooted it away. He glanced at her and smiled.

"Come now, Mees Marsch, it cannot be that bad." Mr. Bhaer reached for it again. There really was no avoiding it without being weird. Jo watched him pick the paper up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. She held her breath as he scanned it. "Very good," he murmured. "We will go back over this, you are improving very well, however." Jo nodded, making herself smile. Just act natural. He won't suspect a thing. It'll be fine. Her breath caught as he neared the bottom of the page. Don't flip it over. Don't flip it over. Don't flip it over. Please don't flip it over. Mr. Bhaer caught her intense stare directed at the back of the paper.

And flipped it.

Jo panicked, jumping up at once to snatch it away, but not before witnessing Mr. Bhaer's expression go from curiosity to shock, to confusion in a split second. She gripped the paper to her chest, hoping he hadn't seen it even though she knew from the expression on his face that he had seen enough.

Mr. Bhaer cleared his throat. "I… will you sit down, Jo?" His expression was odd. He was probably disgusted. Jo's stomach twisted. His eyes were fixed on her with that intent that made her feel important, but it didn't feel good at all anymore, not now after he'd seen something so very stupid. "That paper-"

"Don't look at me!" she blurted out before turning and running as fast as she could back to her room.

Chapter Text

The paper was soon crumpled up and tossed on her already messy desk. Jo paced furiously, back and forth, back and forth. “Why?” she said, her tone almost slipping into a whine. “Why would I write those things? Those awful, weird… I can never look him in the eye again!” She pulled her pillow to her chest, then dropped her face into it to muffle her noise of despair.

Suddenly Laurie’s plan to run away to India when they were kids made a lot of sense. She could catch a boat there from New York, right? Or maybe if she curled up tight enough she could just lay down and die. She could never, ever ever face him again! The embarrassment was far too much, she would burn right up and dissolve into ashes, the way the paper was right now as she tossed it into the fire. Jo sighed, sitting down on the floor. What made her think that was a good idea? The next time he saw her, she would get ignored. Or laughed at. Or even worse, pitied.

Jo rested her head in her folded arms and groaned. How was she to salvage their friendship?

-

Friedrich Bhaer leaned into the back of the sofa, taking his glasses off to wipe them on the corner of his shirt. Did he just see what he just saw? He took several moments to collect himself. No rash decisions. His first instinct at seeing those words, written in his Jo's own hand, was to drop to one knee and make them true. Then she seemed so terrified that he had seen, not wishing for him to look at her.

He opened his hand, one scrap of paper remained from when she had torn the page away. The words had been written more neatly than usual, she had taken great care to make her handwriting legible. She obviously never intended for him to see. Were they idle thoughts she was ashamed of, or genuine wishes? Was it too much to hope that she may take his last name, take his hand, and spend the rest of their lives together?

He stood and sighed. Probably. 

But it would do good to talk to her. He did not want to lose their friendship. 

Tomorrow, he thought. It is clear she cannot stand to see me at the moment. 

He felt as if he hardly blinked, and it was morning. Franz and Emil were up with the sun eager for breakfast. Mr. Bhaer got ready for the day more slowly than usual, in the hopes that Jo might be done with breakfast before they arrived, but his restless nephews hurried him along. 

Their gazes found each other from across the table, and Friedrich saw her entire face begin to slowly deepen into a lovely pink color. "Good morning, Mees Marsch." He tried to sound casual.

"Morning, Professor," Miss March managed after a few awkward seconds. Franz pulled out the chair right next to hers and sat down.

"Morning Miss Jo," he said, chipper and oblivious.

"You do not mind if we sit here, yes?" the professor asked.

"It's fine," Jo said. Her spine was straight and stiff as a board when he sat down across from her. Prickling guilt washed over him. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Did he make her uncomfortable? Should he leave? Should he broach the subject as the boys went across the room in search of lumps of sugar for their… how do you say… oats? 

"Jo." Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and owlish. "May we speak? About the paper, I am meaning." He watched her expression shift to utter humiliation.

"I'm sorry sir," she said, her face in her hands to hide her shame. "I wasn't thinking when I wrote this. This is probably embarrassing for you to have to deal with my little… um…" she waved her hands, in search of a word. He waited. Her what? How did she feel about him? She let the sentence hang, however, stretching out into nothing.

"I am only trying to know," he said, as gently as possible, "why you would write this. I am not embarrassed."

"Well, I just… wanted to see how it would look?" Jo said, fidgeting with her napkin, her fingers anxiously twisting the corners. 

"I see." Somehow he didn't think she was telling the entire truth. "And what did you think about it? Mrs. Josephine Bhaer. " As he tried out the words his heart thudded uncomfortably hard. Don't get attached to it. It won't ever be real, he scolded himself.

Her blush deepened. "It… wasn't bad," she admitted. "I liked it." 

Oh. It was his turn to be flustered now. He tugged at his cravat, clearing his throat. "Ah. That is… good. Alright."

“Why is it good?”

“I… do not know. It has a ring to it.” What was he saying?! He needed to stop.

“Oh. So… you don’t think I’m weird? You still want to be friends with me?” Finally, she looked him in the face, tentative relief evident on her own.

“Of course,” Friedrich said. “Of course I do.” The first of anxiety around her ribs loosened, and she could finally breathe again.

“Okay. Um… that’s good.” Jo stood, hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. “Well, I should be going now. I hope you have a good day, professor.”

“You as well, Mees Marsch.” 

Both soon thought the incident forgotten by the other, being altogether too nervous to bring it up again, but that wasn’t so. Friedrich wouldn’t know until a few years later when the ring on her finger glinted in the sun coming through the windows of Plumfield's big house. When they both sat on the bed and she showed him, laughing, how many more idle scribbles of Jo Bhaer would be absentmindedly written, this time on the inside cover of Jo’s journal where they were safe from view. And Jo wouldn’t know until she flipped through one of her husband’s books that the little scrap of paper that she thought had been tossed had been used to mark the page with Die Schöne Nacht.