Music Welcome to snoozecast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Old Ambition. Tonight, we'll read the next chapter of Good Wives, written by Luisa May Alcott, titled The Valley of the Shadow. This is also known as the second half of the little women novel and is considered

the fortieth chapter as part of that work as a whole. In the last episode, Laurie lingered in niece for a month, growing closer to Amy, but sinking in her esteem due to his laziness and aimlessness.

Amy, unwilling to coddle him, gives him a blunt but heartfelt lecture on his wasted potential. Stung but stirred, Laurie finally decides to leave for his grandfather, leaving Amy both satisfied and unexpectedly

wistful at his absence. In tonight's chapter, the March family draws closer together, cherishing their time with Beth as they prepare for the inevitable. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now take a few deep breaths. When the first bitterness was over, the family accepted the inevitable and tried to bear it cheerfully, helping one another by the increased affection which comes to bind households tenderly together in times of trouble. They put away their grief and each did his or her part toward making that last year a happy one. The pleasantest room in the house was set apart for Beth, and in it was gathered everything that she most loved. Flowers, pictures, her piano, the little worktable, and the beloved pussies. Father's best books found their way there. Mother's easy chair, Joe's desk, Amy's finest sketches. And every day, Meg brought her babies on a loving pilgrimage to make sunshine for Auntie Beth. John quietly set apart a little sum that he might enjoy the pleasure of keeping the invalid supplied with the fruit she loved and longed for. Old Hannah never worried of concocting dainty dishes to tempt a capricious appetite, dropping tears as she worked. And from across the sea came little gifts and cheerful letters, seeming to bring breaths of warmth and fragrance from lands that no, no winter. Here cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat bath, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature. And even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind. The feeble fingers were never idle, and one of her pleasures was to make little things for the schoolchildren daily passing to and fro. To draw a pair of mittens from her window for a pair of purple hands, a needle book for some small mother of many dolls, pen wipers for young pen men toiling through forests of pot hooks, scrapbooks for picture-loving eyes, and all manner of pleasant devices, till the reluctant climbers of the latter of learning found their way strewn with flowers, as it were, and came to regard the gentle giver as a sort of fairy-godmother, who sat above there, and showered down gifts miraculously suited to their tastes and needs. If Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the drawl little letters which came to her full of blots and gratitude. The first few months were very happy ones and Beth often used to look around and say, how beautiful this is as they all sat together in her sunny room, the babies kicking and crowing on the floor, mother and sisters working near, and father reading in his pleasant voice from the wise old books, which seemed rich and good and comfortable words as applicable now as when written centuries ago. A little chapel,

where a paternal priest taught his flock the hard lessons all must learn,

trying to show them that hope can comfort love and faith make resignation possible.

Simple sermons that went straight to the souls of those who listened. And for the Father's heart was in the minister's religion, and the frequent falter in the voice gave a double eloquence to the words he spoke or read. It was well for all that this peaceful time was given them as preparation for the sad hours to come for buy and buy. Beth said the needle was so heavy and put it down forever. Talking weird her, faces troubled her, pain claimed her for its own, and her tranquil spirit was sorrowfully perturbed by the ills that vexed her feeble flesh. Ah me, such heavy days, such long, long nights, such aching hearts and imploring prayers, when those who loved her best were forced to see the thin hands stretched out to them besiegingly, to hear the bitter cry, help me, help me, and to feel that there was no help. A sad eclipse of the serene soul, a sharp struggle of the young life, but both were mercifully brave, and then the natural rebellion over. The old peace returned more beautiful than ever. With the wreck of her frail body, Beth's soul grew strong, and though she said little, those about her felt that she was ready, saw that the first pilgrim called was likewise the fittest, and waited with her on the shore, trying to see the shining ones coming to receive her when she crossed the river. Joe never left her for an hour since Beth had said, I feel stronger when you are here. She slept on a couch in the room, waking off into renew the fire, to feed, lift or wait upon the patient creature who seldom asked for anything, and tried not to be a trouble. All day she haunted the room, jealous of any other nurse, and prouder of being chosen then, then of any honor her life ever brought her. Precious and helpful hours to Joe, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons and patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them. Charity for all. The lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trust undoubtingly. Often when she woke, Joe found Bath reading in her well-worn little book, heard her singing softly to baguille the sleepless night, or saw her lean her face upon her hands, while slow tears dropped through the transparent fingers, and Joe would lie watching her with thoughts too deep for tears, feeling that Beth, in her simple, unselfish way, was trying to wean herself from the dear old life and fit herself for the life to come by sacred words of comfort, quiet prayers, and the music she loved so well. Seeing this did more for Joe than the wisest sermons, the saintliest hymns, the most fervent prayers that any voice could utter. For with eyes made clear by many tears, and a heart softened by the tenderest sorrow, she recognized the beauty of her sister's life, uneventful, unambitious, yet full of the genuine virtues which smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

The self-forgetfulness that makes the humblest on earth remembered soonest in heaven, the true success which is possible to all. One night, when Beth looked among the books upon her table to find something to make her forget the mortal weariness, it was almost as hard to bear as pain. As she turned the leaves of her old favorite, Pilgrim's progress, she found a little paper scrib over her in Jo's hand. The name caught her eye, and the blurred look of the lines made her sure that tears had fallen on it. Poor Jo, she's fast asleep, so I won't wake her to ask leave. She shows me all her things, and I don't think she'll mind if I look at this, thought Beth, with a glance at her sister, who lay on the rug with the tongs beside her, ready to wake up the minute the log fell apart. My bath, sitting patient in the shadow, till the blessed light shall come. A serene and saintly presence sanctifies our troubled home. Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn river

Where her willing feet now stand.

Oh, my sister, passing from me

Out of human care and strife,

Leave me as a gift those virtues

Which have beautified your life. here, but please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, prison house of pain. Give me, for I need it sorely, of that courage, wise and sweet, which has made the path of duty green beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature, that with charity divine, can pardon wrong for love's dear sake, make heart me, mine. Thus our partying daily loseeth Something of its bitter pain. And while learning this hard lesson, My great loss becomes my gain. For the touch of grief will render My wild nature more serene, Give to life new aspirations, a new trust in the unseen. Henceforth, safe across the river, I shall see forevermore, A beloved household spirit waiting for me on the shore. Hope and faith, born of my sorrow, Guardian angels shall become, and the sister gone before me by their hands shall lead me home. word implanted, faulty and feeble as the lines were, they brought a look of inexpressible comfort to Beth's face. For her one regret had been that she had done so little, and this seemed to assure her that her life had not been useless, that her death would not bring the despair she feared. As she sat with the paper folded between her hands, the chart log fell a sunder. Joe started up, revived the blaze, and crept to the bedside, hoping Beth slept. Not asleep, but so happy dear. See, I found this and read it. I knew you wouldn't care. Have I been all that to you, Joe?" She asked, with wistful humble earnestness. Oh Beth, so much, so much. And Jo's head went down upon the pillow beside her sisters. Then I don't feel as if I'd wasted my life. I'm not so good as you make me, but I have tried to do right. And now, when it's too late to begin even to do better, it's such a comfort to know that someone loves me so much, and feels as if I'd helped them. More than anyone in the world, Beth, I used to think I couldn't let you go, but I'm learning to feel

that I don't lose you, that you'll be more to me than ever, and death can't part us, though it seems to. I know I cannot, but I don't fear it any longer, for I'm sure I'll Be your Beth still to love and help you more than ever.

You must take my... fear it any longer, for I'm sure I'll be your Beth still to love and help you more than

ever. You must take my place, Joe, and be everything to father and mother when I'm gone. They will turn to you. Don't fail them. And if it's hard to work alone, remember that But I don't forget you and that you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books

or... hard to work alone. Remember that I don't forget you and that you'll be happier in doing that than writing splendid books or seeing all the world. For love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go and it makes the end so easy. I'll try Beth. And then and there Joe ren Joe renounced her old ambition, pledged herself to a new and better one, acknowledging the poverty of other desires, and feeling the blessed solace of a belief in the immortality of love. So the spring days came and went. The sky grew clearer, the earth greener. The flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life,

as father and mother guided her tenderly through the valley of the shadow and gave her up to God. Seldom except in books do the dying utter memorable words, see visions or depart with beatified countenances. And those who have spent many parting souls know that to most the ends comes as naturally and simply as sleep. His bath had hoped, the tide went out easily, and the dark hour before dawn on the bosom where she had drawn her first breath. She quietly drew her last with no farewell but one loving look, one little sigh. With tears and prayers and tender hands, Mother and sisters made her ready for the long sleep that pain would never marr again. Seeing with grateful eyes the beautiful serenity that soon replaced the pathetic patience that it wronged their heart so long and feeling with reverent joy to their darling death was a the Bidniknant Angel, not a Phantom Full full of dread.

When morning came, for the first time in many months, the fire was out. Joe's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang blithely on a budding bow close by. The snow drops blossomed freshly at the window. And the spring sunshine streams in like a benediction over the placid face upon the pillow. A face so full of painless peace

that those who loved it best

smiled through their tears.

And thank God that Beth was well at last. Yn yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n gweld. Yn yw'n gweld. Yn yw'n gweld.

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