Synopsis
Desperate to show the March family's deep gratitude to Laurie for saving Jo from the icy river, Amy sets out to paint a grand oil portrait of him. However, her artistic ambitions run into hilarious complications when Laurie proves to be a terrible model and a surprise visitor arrives at the house.
By the following afternoon, Orchard House had transformed from a recovery ward into a chaotic art studio. Jo was entirely recovered, though Marmee strictly forbade her from leaving the parlor couch. This confinement suited Amy perfectly. She had seized the opportunity to declare that a grand, historic act of heroism required an equally grand, historic work of art.
"Sit still, Laurie! You are supposed to look like a valiant knight, not a boy with a cricket in his trousers," Amy commanded, squinting through a cardboard tube to judge her perspective.
Laurie sat perched uncomfortably on a high wooden stool, draped in a heavy velvet tablecloth that Amy had borrowed from Meg's theater chest. He held a bronze fire poker aloft like a sword, his arm visibly shaking. "Amy, my shoulder is going entirely numb. Can a valiant knight not rest his blade for two minutes?"
"Art requires sacrifice, Teddy," Jo called out from the couch, thoroughly enjoying his misery as she chewed on a ginger crisp. "Besides, you're the one who wanted to be a hero. Now you must suffer the consequences."
Meg looked up from her sewing, smiling gently. "Do try to cooperate, Laurie. Amy spent an hour mixing that particular shade of blue for your eyes using her precious imported cakes of paint."
"I am trying," Laurie groaned, attempting a look of noble defiance that instead looked like he had swallowed a sour lemon. "But Beth keeps playing that funny little tune on the piano, and it's making me want to laugh."
Beth stopped playing immediately, her cheeks turning pink as she giggled behind her sheet music. "I will play a march instead, Laurie. Something very stern and soldierly."
Amy dabbed a thick glob of white paint onto her makeshift palette—a flat piece of wood Jo had sanded down for her. She made a dramatic swipe across the old canvas. "There! The glint of courage in your eye is nearly captured. Just do not breathe for the next ten minutes."
The frantic scratching of Amy's brush was suddenly interrupted by a heavy, authoritative knock at the front door. The girls froze. It was too firm to be the postman, and far too imposing to be a neighbor.
Jo sat up straight, instantly trying to smooth down her wild hair. Meg jumped up to tidy the yarn baskets, while Amy frantically tried to hide her paint rags.
Before anyone could move to answer, the door swung open, and Mr. Laurence stepped into the room. The elderly gentleman looked imposing in his long fur-lined coat, his cane tapping sharply against the floorboards. His stern eyes swept over the messy parlor, finally landing on his grandson, who was still draped in a velvet tablecloth and holding a fire poker.
"Grandfather!" Laurie squeaked, dropping the poker with a loud, metallic clatter.
The room fell entirely silent. Amy held her breath, convinced she was about to be scolded for ruining the neighbor's afternoon.
Mr. Laurence looked at the fire poker, then at the canvas, and finally at Amy, who was trembling slightly behind her easel. The stern lines around his mouth twitched, and to everyone's immense shock, a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped his chest.
"Well, Miss Amy," Mr. Laurence said, his eyes softening as he walked over to inspect the painting. "You have certainly captured the boy's vanity, though I believe his nose is not quite that long in reality."
"It's a Grecian adaptation, sir," Amy stammered, her courage returning in a rush. "To emphasize his heroic nature."
"A fine choice," Mr. Laurence smiled, turning to Marmee, who had just entered from the kitchen. "Madam, I came to ensure your daughter was none the worse for wear after yesterday’s excitement. It seems she has plenty of energy to torture my grandson."
"She is perfectly well, Mr. Laurence, thanks entirely to Laurie," Marmee said, offering him a warm cup of tea.
Mr. Laurence took the cup, looking around at the bright, messy, laughter-filled room. The loneliness of his own great stone mansion seemed a world away. "He did well," the old man said softly, placing a proud hand on Laurie's shoulder. "But I think the knight has earned his freedom from the canvas for today."
"Hurrah!" Laurie shouted, tearing off the tablecloth. He grabbed Jo's hand and pulled her off the couch, while Beth struck up a triumphant chord on the piano. The masterpiece was far from finished, but as they all gathered around the hearth, Amy decided that a painting of a happy family was much better than a portrait of a lonely knight anyway.
