Butterfly Serials 2.1

Music Madness In New York City; Butterfly Serials 2.1

© 2024 by Amber Wright

June 1973.

Bibi Jacobs woke up in the middle of the night dreaming she was being chased by hundreds of squirrels. She flung off the blanket and opened her window to the crickets and bull frogs filling the night air.

She may as well see what Jo did next...

Date: March 1920

Place: New York City, New York

Jo March's professor was a round bald man with crooked ears. She groaned when he wasn't looking. Why on earth did she get stuck with him? Even the grouchy old Bhaer would have been better. This man was as ugly as homemade sin! She focused on the strings instead.

“You need to tilt your head, Miss March.”

Jo snapped him a look.

“Don't you want to play the violin?”

“No!” Jo handed him the violin and paced the room. “I wanted to learn the bagpipes but apparently no one in this monster of a building has the foggiest idea of one! Where's me a Scottish man? I want one!”

The professor's jaw dropped open.

“I want one in kilts,” Jo grinned.

“There is no professor here who teaches the bagpipes. Go to Scotland then.”

“I'd love to!” Jo hummed a little tune and wished Aunt March would take her to Scotland next.

The professor squinted a critical eye at her, and Jo bristled again. She folded her arms with a little fire rising inside her. There was nothing wrong with her. Nothing.

The professor left the room silently.

“Of all the silly, sickly—” Jo was nettled to the core.

Adults thought they were so clever. Well, she'd show them she was, too. She turned the organ on with a triumphant grin and settled herself onto the seat.

The organ roared away.

“Josepheeeeeeen!”

Aunt March stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a dragon-like expression. Oh. Dear. “I'm playing, Aunt March! Aren't you proud of me? I've actually accomplished to play an instrument at long last!”

“Josephine March.”

Jo meekly got up from the organ and followed her aunt through the hallway where everyone stared silently at them as they passed by. “Hello everyone, I'm the new student here!”

Aunt March stormed out of the building with Jo in tow. She'd never seen her aunt so angry. What did she do—this time?

“I was only being friendly,” Jo protested as Aunt March settled on her armchair and pinned a glare at her. “The professor was old and ugly!”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Everything! I don't like looking at ugly people if I don't have to. Do you?”

“You're learning to play an instrument, not to look at pretty or ugly people. Let's get that straight!”

“The violin isn't loud enough for me. I want to play the bagpipes! Can you believe there is no such thing as the bagpipes in that entire massive building? I'd burn the whole thing down—if Laurie wasn't in there!”

“Josephine!”

“Well, anyway—how much did I get in trouble? I always get in trouble at school. That's why Mum's mostly taught me at home. Why, aunty, you look all white. What's happened?”

“My smelling salts, child.”

Instead, Jo opened a window and in came the boisterous gales of wind rattling the little fine goblets on the sideboard. Aunt March was up in a flurry and Jo wondered what else she had done wrong that day. She scampered upstairs before aunty could scold her again and settled mutely in the limb of the big swaying apple tree. If she tipped out, she tipped.

• • •

Aunt March promptly demanded for a refund from the school and received it without question. However, Jo was in her bad books for a good long while. Aunt March had a heart of gold but held grudges for ages.

“Can I speak to you yet, Aunt March? It's been three weeks now and I've been a complete angel since! Laurie says I might be able to learn—”

“You are not making a fool of me again, Miss Scatterbrained, rule breaker!” Aunt March barked, then broke into a stiff little smile. “Now, let's have some tea and cookies and be companionable. How many lumps?”

“I'd say four but I get too dizzy when I eat too much sugar,” Jo felt better knowing Aunt March was talking to her again. “One, please. Aunt March?”

“Yes, Josephine?”

“Am I really all that terrible?” Jo fidgeted with the cloth of her skirt. “Some people have said I'm possessed. A half wit. Never be able to learn anything. Wouldn't make anything of my life. Unstable. Am I really so—not right in the mind?”

“You're too honest—people don't like that. I don't like that,” Aunt March poured their teas. “But of course you're right in the mind. You just think differently.”

Jo stared. “Does that make me different?”

“It takes all kinds to make a world, Jo. You're the honest sort—the kind good for keeping people on their toes. Now me,” the old lady chuckled, “I keep people in order.”

“Yes, madam!” Jo grinned.

“Some people though, they smile to your face and talk bad behind your back. You're not like that, child. You're too good for this world.”

“I am?”

“You're an absolute terror but you're a good one.” Aunt March winked at her. “How many cookies?”

“Ten!”

• • •

Laurie's black curls glistened in the sun as Jo met him in the graveyard. “You need a haircut.”

“You need to shut up,” Laurie retorted. “What did your aunty say about music lessons with Professor Bhaer?”

“Blatantly refused! What will I do? She says she won't let me make a fool of her again.”

“Professor Bhaer can't teach outside the school or he'll lose his license.”

Angry tears filled Jo's eyes. “Hang that school!”

“I'll tell you what—I'll teach you piano. I may not be the most patient person in the world, but I'll try.”

“You're a trump!” Jo squeezed Laurie's arm until he winced and she was sure it had lost all its blood. “I can't wait! When do we start?”

Laurie shook the blood back into his arm, then bowed with a flourish. “Miss March, we shall start your lessons on Monday evening after supper. Be prompt and be sure to obey all my rules.”

“All?”

“All three of them! Listen, learn, and remember. Are you excited you'll finally be learning an instrument by your best friend?”

“You won't quit if I get too difficult, will you? Everyone else does. Never had a teacher but my mum who could make me finish my lessons.”

“Better start calling me Mummy then!” Laurie laughed, and faked a high voice. “Darling Jo, you won't disappoint me, will you?”

“What time?”

“Eight o'clock sharp.”

Jo groaned. “I have a feeling we'll be having some nice big arguments in the future. You've suddenly turned so bossy!”

“Gladiator pals?” Laurie frowned and shook her hand until Jo's teeth rattled.

“Sir!” Jo walked along with Laurie in tow. “If I could be anyone in the past, I'd love to be a pirate. What about you?”

“Me, I'd love to sail the seven seas and conquer the world.”

“You can conquer and I'll make everyone laugh—after you've slayed all the men in power and ransacked all the loot.”

“You're treacherous. Fine pirate you'd make. You'd be the one selling the babies for bagpipe lessons and paper and pens!”

“I finished the story I was writing. I'm trying to get it published—shh, don't tell anyone.”

“Silent as the tomb. Can you ask your cook to make us a chocolate cake when I come over Monday?”

Jo nodded, and they chatted excitedly about piano lessons until the fireflies wafted from the trees and onto the tombstones.

• • •

“I'm in love!” Jo declared as she stepped into the library where Aunt March was cozied up in her chair with an ancient looking novel.

“At long last,” Aunt March looked up from the spectacles hanging on the edge of her nose.

“I knew you'd make a good match,” Aunt Becky looked like a picture herself, painting in the corner with a head scarf and big ugly apron on.

“Not with anyone—with a new idea. Oh, Aunt March! Laurie says he's going to teach me piano. We're starting Monday and we've—”

“Didn't ask me, did you?”

“Can I, please, aunty? Thank you!”

“I don't recall answering you yet—but go on, you need to learn music. It'll do you good. Calm you down a bit.”

Jo didn't hear the rest. “Oh, imagine me playing a baby grand in front of thousands and having flowers thrown at my feet!”

“Lesson one is Monday, child.”

Jo skipped up to her room with a heart as light as a firefly. Tomorrow was Sunday. And the next day was Monday. She couldn't stop smiling.

• • •

Laurie kept making stern faces at Jo during church across the aisle. She glared back. She could sit there with a dazed look on her face if she liked. She listened to the service while imagining herself playing the big grand organ up there to the right. Everyone would be saying how beautiful she played. They would. How could they possibly not?

“You weren't listening,” Laurie scolded her as soon as they stepped outside church.

“I was, too!” Jo smiled as they passed someone aunty knew. “I was picturing myself up there playing the organ. Think I could learn that next?”

“Next, you'll be writing the sermons out for the minister.”

“If I was a minister, I'd think my sermons up on spot. That way, it'd feel more real. As it is, the poor man reads it like he's reading an obituary or something. Why do they do things like that?”

“Josephine!” Aunt March said sternly.

Jo shut right up and whispered to Laurie until she left with her aunts. Her mind was a whirl. She'd have a lot to say in her sermons—of course, she'd probably be preaching to the empty pews within a fortnight. On second thought, she'd skip it. Preaching was a man's job, after all.

• • •

Monday Jo was as moody as a weathervane. She cried over breakfast, sang over mixing a pot of delicious chocolatey ingredients—until her chocolate sauce boiled over on the stove and was scorched. It didn't help that Cook was boiling mad when she found her trying to clean her mess up, shouting like an Italian and telling her the kitchen wasn't her place.

How on earth did you cook? Jo felt like flinging herself out her bedroom window but the day was too pretty. So she did some lessons in the rose arbor with Aunt Becky. The math did her head in so much, she felt like screaming.

In the end, supper came and there was a beautiful chocolate cake with perfectly smooth fudge icing for when Laurie came.

“Do you think I could ever properly learn how to cook, aunties?” Jo looked from stern Aunt March to sad Aunt Becky. “It seems I blunder in most everything else. Hopefully, Laurie can teach me some music though. I'd love to have some success at that!”

“I can teach you,” Aunt Becky smiled at Jo patiently. “If you really want to learn something, you'll learn, no matter how hard it is.”

“You're my beacon of hope, aunty!”

Aunt March grunted, “What about me?”

“You're my beacon of faith, for no matter how trying I am you always tell me I can do better.”

“Apparently Laurie is your beacon of love?” Aunt March's eyes twinkled with an evil chuckle.

Jo choked on her mouthful of food, and the next thing she knew Laurie was stepping into the dining room with a handful of music. His big teeth-filled smile made her heart sing for joy. “Christopher Columbus! Let's get eating this cake. I've been dying to attack it since it was finished two hours ago. And then, I'm more than ready to attack those music sheets!”

“That's the spirit,” Laurie sat down and clanked his dessert spoon against the saucer until Aunt March declared the two of them would send her to an early grave.

“Jo knows I've willed everything to her, Laurie, that's why she acts the way she does. Becky, have you decided which automobile you're going to buy yet?”

“I thought about the red one.”

Jo was in squeals and exclamations. Laurie chatted excitedly while the maid served dessert and coffee for the old folks. Jo drank her milk with a silly smile on her face, listening to everyone for once instead of talking her jaws off.

“Earth to Miss March!” Laurie flapped the music sheets over her head. “Ready or not, here you go,” he pulled her up by her braid until Jo let out a howl.

“Looks like I'll be needing to shave my hair off if you keep that up,” Jo sat next to Laurie on the piano bench. “You're teaching me the easy stuff first, right?”

“Nope, Beethoven.”

Jo glared at him until Laurie banged on the key of C. “We start with this key, although A is the first key. It's just that C is more convenient for a beginner. Now what did I just say?”

“Can't remember,” Jo huffed. “You knew I was going to be a handful. All I remember is that this is the key of C. What's next?”

The next hour Laurie taught and Jo forgot.

• • •

“Few more weeks of teaching you, Jo, and I'll be pulling all my hair out,” Laurie made a face as they strolled downtown New York City, Jo exclaiming over every little thing as usual.

“Aren't you funny? Ooh, look! That building over there—the one with the ugly little tower—it looks haunted. Let's go find out!”

“Find out?” Laurie protested as Jo dragged him by his coat sleeve. “Stop it! If you dare tear my—”

“Precious piece of clothing,” Jo mimicked a whining boy's voice, “I'm going to let you walk all the way home by yourself.”

“Precisely,” Laurie knitted his black eyebrows until Jo giggled.

“You look like a skunk, doing that. Or, raccoon—whatever it's called. How do we get in?”

“We don't get in, Josephine March. This is private property and I'm sure there's a police officer spying on us just now.”

“I doubt it very strongly, Mr. Laurence.” Jo jiggled the door handle. “It's stuck!”

“Of course it's stuck—it's locked. Do you want to get us both arrested or what?”

“I've never been arrested before. It might be fun! But the food would probably be terrible. That shop across the street looks ridiculous. Who paints their shops orange and white stripes anyway?”

“I'm going to get an orange and white striped suit—just to annoy you,” Laurie smirked.

“I'll have an outfit made to match. We could call ourselves the artful tigers—instead of the artful dodger like in Oliver Twist. Live on— What do tigers live on, Laurie? I don't remember my science very well.”

“Forgot, too.” Laurie changed the subject, “Are we going into that silly shop or what?”

“Are the shopkeepers ugly or not?”

“First, you won't take music lessons off ugly people. Now it's not buying from ugly people. Jo, you're an absolute nut sometimes!”

“Which reminds me,” Jo silently counted to a hundred so she wouldn't blow up in Laurie's face—in public. “Does that squirrel still live in the music room at your school?”

Laurie looked at her oddly.

“I did not hallucinate, if that's what you're implying, Mr. Laurence!”

“If I see it, I'll catch it for you. Ugly or not, we're going in.” Laurie marched into the shop with Jo meekly following like a tame kitten.

They were the most beautiful Jewish brothers Jo had ever seen, working behind that counter. Laurie did not linger long, said they needed to get back—Aunt March's orders. Jo tore herself away from the shop, trying to remember what the name of it was. So she could come back later—without Laurie. Aunt Becky always had such lovely long conversations.

“Apparently they weren't ugly,” Laurie bit out once they were out of sight of the shop.

“Don't you like looking at nice-looking people?” Jo defended herself, feeling a bit caught however. Laurie had such a stare—like he was seeing right through her. Perhaps he did. “If they had been ladies, you'd still be talking to them. Wouldn't you? I know you would. You always talk to pretty ladies. Don't know when to stop. You do it all the time!”

“Don't you switch it over on me! You always do that. Make me feel like I'm the one who's always doing the wrong thing when it's—”

“I think it's too pretty of a day to stand here in the middle of the street arguing—your highness! Zip it or I'll tell Aunt March.”

“She'll say it's your fault,” Laurie smirked. “You know how she adores me.”

“She's probably left her entire fortune to you, not me!” Jo rolled her eyes. “I'd better get on the good side of you—and hope you'll go halves with me.”

“What would you do if you had half of it?”

“Sail around the world, for one thing.”

“Build myself a plane, me.”

“I'll have an ocean liner built. You can always rely on a vehicle which touches land or water better than one hanging between clouds and sky.”

“What about the Titanic?”

“Oh, hang it! Don't be so depressing,” Jo frowned and felt thunder rising inside her.

“Just what we're looking for—an ice cream parlor.” Laurie grinned up at the vivid red and white striped awning of a buzzing shop with youngsters.

“Thought Aunt March said to get back.”

“There's a pretty, old lady at the counter,” Laurie winked and Jo laughed. Of course, a lady.

They both ordered huge dishes of banana splits and sat in the corner where Jo could spy on everyone for story ideas. Laurie looked Jewish, she suddenly thought. Who was his mother? His father had been a failed pianist who died from consumption in Germany in 1910. Laurence was an English name—or French, or something like that. She ate silently, with a little stare.

“What you thinking about?”

“Can I ask you a question—I mean, a real one?”

“Ask on,” Laurie threatened to scoop his spoon into her dish until Jo slid her ice cream far out of his reach. “Well?”

“You won't get offended, will you?”

Laurie frowned.

“Is your mother dead—I mean, really dead?”

Laurie looked down. “You do ask the most real ones I've ever heard. Alright, you may as well know—my grandfather took me to England to live with him when I was six. I thought my mother was dead but now I don't know. Grandfather refuses to answer me every time I ask him.”

“We'll find her,” Jo said quietly.

“Don't go asking the minister again if you can play the church organ tomorrow,” Laurie changed the subject as Jo's thoughts drifted to a war torn Germany where Laurie's mother could still be alive in.

“But I want to play!” Jo pouted, scooping up her ice cream by the huge spoonfuls before it all melted altogether. She hated melted ice cream—it tasted like sugar infested milk. But ice cream, ooh la. “If he says I can play, then I can. Aunt March can't stop me either. It'll be the minister's word against hers.”

“Should be a lawyer, Jo. Always got a last word for everything. Get up and let's go.”

Jo was already planning on what she would say tomorrow. This time it had to work!

• • •

Before the sun was up, Jo was already dressed and had eaten her breakfast. She'd talked the maid into her little scheme. The maid was to tell the aunties that her stomach was aching dreadfully from too much ice cream and would they please excuse her.

The truth was, Jo slipped off to the minister's and was sipping chilled lemonade with his wife by the time the aunties were eating breakfast.

Her little plan worked. The minister's wife agreed to let her play the organ for church that morning—as Jo allowed her to believe she was an “excellent organist” and had played “a time or two before”. Well, once. But what did that have to do with playing an instrument? Once you played it, you played it and could play it afterwards. Couldn't you?

Next thing she knew, Jo was sitting on the organ bench with her head bent low over the keys. Now which keys made the chord G Major?

• • •

“Should've seen Aunt March fainting dead on the pew,” Laurie whispered to Jo after the service was over.

“Did she? Was I playing that awful?”

“She thought you were a ghost!”

Jo giggled. “I see she has recovered.”

Aunt March glared at her from the bright red new automobile that Aunt Becky had just bought. She was silent the whole way home. Jo dared to peek over at her a couple times. The minister did say she did play rather well...er, she thought he had said it anyway. Why did grown ups have to live such complicated lives? They had so much to live for—and they complained about everything. Everything!

Jo silently fumed as the scenery whizzed by and Aunt Becky let them bounce over potholes in the road. Maybe she wasn't the best organist on the planet but what did that have to do with anything? She'd played the chords right and everyone had sung to it. What more could a person ask for? Look like a molded over two hundred year old relic to be considered a proper organist?

The first thing Aunt March did was lead Jo up a flight of stairs to a room she had never been in before.

“Are you r-really going to kill me, Aunt March?” Jo gulped, looking around the dingy room filled with things.

Silence.

“You really want to go to prison for this? Maybe even get a rope round your neck?”

Aunt March threw back a sheet covering a big contraption that covered one side of the room. An organ! Jo wondered if it was just a guise that was really a coffin. A new story popped up. The Secret Coffin That Held the Coffee. What would a coffin have coffee in it though? “Does it open?”

Aunt March flipped on the switch. “Play it, silly girl, and then get ideas about playing before the entire population of New York City!”

Jo filled the huge mansion with music bouncing off the attic ceiling to the floorboards of the basement. This was fun—music. She could get used to this.

• • •

June 1973.

Bibi shook with laughter. Maybe when she was in Ireland she could talk somebody into letting her go meet this Jo who owned her own Irish island and was a famous millionaire author.