TripLit with D. Major

A Little Women Christmas

Christmas, 1981: Shannon, All my love for a sweet and beautiful girl who is rapidly changing into one of the “Little Women” in our home. Merry Christmas, Mom

Several years ago, while pilfering through stacks of books at a used bookstore, I found a 1981 Grosset & Dunlap, Illustrated Junior Library edition of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. If you’re not getting a visual of the edition, don’t fret. When I recognized the book, I didn’t think to myself, “Why, that’s a 1981 Grosset & Dunlap, Illustrated Junior Library edition of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. Lajos “Louis” Jambor illustrated two of Alcott’s books, Little Women (1947) and Jo’s Boys (1949); the 1981 edition I now own was a reprint. I later acquired Jo’s Boys. To be honest, I had to look up all these details in order to write this piece. If you’re a Little Women enthusiast and have seen this edition firsthand you will absolutely recognize the cover. Finding it at the bookstore—Marmee at the piano encircled by her four daughters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March with their eyes looking upward to the heavens singing to the angels above—instantly transported to one of my favorite Christmas memories—my sister, Julia, reading Little Women to me over the days leading up to Christmas.

Most people equate Charles Dickens’ novella, A Christmas Carol, as the “go-to” Christmas story. It has certainly stood the test time. And no, Dickens did not invent Christmas. I do wonder how many people are like me, though, and view Little Women as a Christmas book? It begins and ends with Christmas; even the second chapter is titled “Merry Christmas.” But the tradition of Julia reading Alcott’s most famous novel to me at Christmastime began when my family moved from California to rural Missouri in the early 1980s. Little House on the Prairie and The Waltons were popular TV shows. Julia and I thought (and often pretended) to be the characters in those shows to the extent (and the annoyance of my older sister, Aleea) that at night we would repeat over and over: “Goodnight Johnboy,” “Goodnight Mary Ellen” or in the case of Melissa Gilbert who played the character of Laura Ingalls Wilder, “Goodnight Ma. Goodnight, Pa.” Julia and I shared a room. Moving to Missouri was like traveling back in time. At Silver Dollar City in the Ozarks, I even entered a bullfrog racing contest and that’s where my parents bought me a blue cornflower bonnet very similar to the one Melissa Gilbert a/k/a Laura wore in the show. In the opening scene, Laura runs down the hill to the TV show’s soundtrack. I used to run down our dirt road, wearing my bonnet, and humming that same music. I’m willing to bet there are some readers of a certain vintage (I’m circa 1972 myself) who once ran down hills pretending to be the TV version of Laura Ingalls or did the whole “Goodnight Johnboy” routine themselves. The Ingalls, the Waltons, but even more so, the Alcott’s lives resembled our lives. In truth, our lives were more matched to the sitcom, One Day at a Time, which was about a divorced mom raising two daughters on her own. But, if I was going to live inside a novel, I was definitely picking the more romantic version the Alcotts seemed to live.

I identified with the Alcott sisters. We, also, were an all-girl cast living a meager existence with our mom and waiting for dad to come back home—my dad had been laid off at his job in Missouri and had returned to California for work. With only a cast iron potbelly stove to heat our entire house, like the Alcotts, we were often cold in the winter. My mom was studying to become a nurse. Marmee served as a nurse in the Civil War. Like Beth, I played the piano and like Jo, I had early dreams of becoming a writer. We even cut down our own Christmas tree! That was a test for you, dear readers. The March sisters didn’t cut down their Christmas tree! I’ve always felt that scene was missing from Alcott’s novel and would have worked well for the introduction of the male character, Lauri, the March’s very curious neighbor. But who am I to comment on Alcott’s masterpiece? Aleea, Julia, and I searching our property for the perfect tree, chopping it down, and hauling it (we first tried to get our horse, Favel, to pull it…nope, not having that) home in the snow is also a favorite Christmas memory. The scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation where Chevy Chase takes his family to the middle of nowhere to hunt down the perfect Christmas tree is a more fitting picture of that day. First, Julia wanted to climb up the tree and cut off the top. Aleea nixed that idea. If it weren’t for older sisters, most of us would have died earlier. That classic Clark Griswold line from the movie— “Looks great. Little full, lotta sap”—about sums up our experience. The whole point I remember this as an innocent time. There was a wholesomeness to our lives reminiscent of Alcott’s characters in Little Women.

We almost lost Julia last summer. Sorry I didn’t work in a better transition here, but is there a good way of transitioning into this topic? When things turned for the worse I went to see her in the hospital thinking this might be the last time we would spend together. She always wants me to read the latest chapters from the novel I’m working on. I don’t typically share in those early stages, but I brought my laptop and I read a couple chapters. I also brought my copy of Little Women. It’s hard for Julia to read now because she’s had multiple head injuries. When she saw the book she said, “That’s mine.” It’s a sister thing. I get accused of stealing stuff all the time, but listen, I’m the youngest of three girls…doesn’t that mean everything belongs to me? She was right, though. Little Women will forever be hers. I didn’t end up reading it to her that day. I’m glad. It would have marked an end to our chapter and it’s not time for that. Julia has a long road ahead, but she’s home now.

This brings me to the part of the story that isn’t quite as innocent and ties into the concept of writing a column about literary destinations. I’ve discovered in writing these micro-memoirs that they share the same narrative elements of fiction, so there are humorous parts, sad parts, and in this case, naughty parts. Oh my! I couldn’t resist the chance at a double entendre. This is a different type of memory, but is still associated with Little Women and Lousia May Alcott.

A few years ago, my husband, Nick, my son, Harry, and I traveled to Concord, MA to visit The Orchard House where Lousia May Alcott wrote Little Women. The house was the inspiration for the novel’s setting and had been on my bucket list for years. We weren’t familiar with the lay of the land, hit some traffic, and by the time we arrived it was five minutes until closing time and a lady was locking the door. I begged and pleaded my case: “Please, please can I just dip in for five minutes? Alcott changed the direction of my life. We flew from Atlanta and are leaving tomorrow.” There’s a reason “Southern” often modifies hospitality. When have you ever seen “Northern” before “hospitality?” Needless to say, I was not permitted to soak in the aura of one of our literary greats. I would not be allowed to reimagine the Alcott’s Christmas which was essentially (in my mind) the March sisters’ Christmas, and ultimately a reimagining of one of my fondest Christmas memories Major girls’ Christmas. My consolation prize was being a “Peeping Tom,” gazing through windows, and snapping photos that didn’t turn out because of the glare coming off the glass. I guess I could spin it and pretend I was like Alcott’s character, Lauri, who often spied on the Marchs. Perhaps it was that rejection that led to reckless behavior. No, I didn’t smash windows or graffiti The Orchard House. It’s not that dark. Anyway, that would be sacrilegious.

So…right across from The Orchard House is another famous historical home, The Wayside. It hadn’t been converted into a museum at the time of our visit. It officially opened to the public in 2024. Nathanial Hawthorne was The Wayside’s most famous resident, but Lousia May Alcott resided there at one time as did Harriet Lothrop. Lothrop, whose pen name was Margaret Sidney, wrote a children’s series called Five Little Peppers. I was aware of the house’s connection to Hawthorne and Alcott, but later learned about Lothrop and the role The Wayside played during the Revolution. But this is not a history lesson, so I’ll move on to the good part.

Let’s just say the door was unlocked this time. Upon entering The Wayside, we were hit with the strong smell of oil-based paint. Drop cloths littered the floors. We heard a shuffling sound coming from upstairs and then a man yelling out, “hello, hello,” to which we didn’t extend a greeting. Why not have a quick peek? And so, we traveled through the first floor, up to the second floor, the third floor, all the way to the attic accompanied by a distant, “Hello, is someone there?” Today, I wonder if that man renovating The Wayside went home and told his family the house is haunted. Just a teeny bit naughty, but we had come from so far away, and we deserved it. Plus, I have a new memory. (Memories are fickle so maybe this never really happened. Deny, deny, deny.)

Like Louisa May Alcott did in Little Women, I will begin with Christmas and I will end with Christmas. The quote at the start of this piece, the inscription—Christmas, 1981: Shannon, All my love for a sweet and beautiful girl who is rapidly changing into one of the “Little Women” in our home. Merry Christmas, Mom—was written on the title page of the used copy I found. It was written by a mother to her daughter. Could it be more perfect?

I’ve pondered who Shannon is and how serendipitous it seemed that Shannon is also the name of my main character in my novel, The Bystanders. Some additional serendipity is that I never noticed the inscription until I opened the book at the hospital last summer during my visit with Julia. Is Shannon still alive? Surely not, because she never would never have parted with such a meaningful gift from her mother. But for whatever reason, this version of Little Women somehow found its way into my hands with a stranger’s Christmas memory forever secreted within its pages. It made me recall the Christmases of my youth, of a mom and her three daughters. It made me remember the spirit of Christmas. I hope it does the same for you: Merry Christmas WELL READ readers and a Happy New Year!