Music Welcome to Snewscast, 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 Honorable Atoneman. Tonight we'll read the fifth chapter to Good Wives, written by Luisa May Alcott. This is also known as the second half of the Little Women novel. Originally Alcott had it published as a second book, but in later publishing the two were combined. Our last episode was the chapter titled Literary Lessons in which Jo, consumed by her writing fervor, neglects basic needs as she delves into her craft. She shifts focus from romances to thrillers, inspired by a chance encounter. Entering a contest, she wins $100, enabling her to send Beth and Marmy for a seaside retreat. Her new genre proves lucrative, supporting her family. Though facing revisions and mixed reviews, she

ultimately earned several hundred dollars from her published novel.

Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. Like most other young matrons, Meg began her married life with the determination to be a model housekeeper. John should find home a paradise. He should always see a smiling face, should fare sumptuously every day, and never know the loss of a button. She brought so much love, energy, and cheerfulness to the work that she could not but succeed, in spite of some obstacles. Her paradise was not a tranquil one, for the little woman fussed, was over-anxious to please, and bustled about like a true Martha, cum bird with many cares. She was too tired, sometimes even to smile. John grew dyspeptic after a course of dainty dishes, and ungrateful demanded plain fare. As for buttons, she soon learned to wonder where they went, to shake her head over the carelessness of men, and to threaten to make him so them on himself, and then see if his work would stand impatient tugs and clumsy fingers any better than hers. They were very happy, even after they discovered that they couldn't live on love alone. John did not find Meg's beauty diminished, though she beamed at him from behind the familiar coffee pot. Nor did Meg miss any of the romance from the daily

parting when her husband followed up his kiss with the tender inquiry. Shall I send home Veil or Mutton for dinner, darling? The little house ceased to be a glorified bowler, but it became a home, and the young couple soon felt that it was a change for the better. At first they played keep-house, and froliced over it like children. Then John took steadily to business, feeling the cares of the head of a family upon his shoulders, and Meg laid by her wrappers, put on a big apron, and fell to work. As before said, with more energy, then discretion. While the cooking mania lasted, she went through Mrs. Cornelius' receipt book, as if it were a mathematical exercise, working out the problems with patience and care. Sometimes her family were invited in to help eat up a two-boundtious feast of successes. Or, Laughty would be privately desbatched with a batch of failures, which were to be concealed from all eyes in the convenient stomachs of the little humbles. In evening with John over the countbooks, usually produced a temporary lull in the culinary enthusiasm, and a frugal fit would ensue during which the poor man was put through a course of bread-putting, hash, and warmed over coffee, which tried his soul. Although he bore it with praise worthy fortitude. Before the golden mean was found, however, Meg added to her domestic possessions what young couples seldom get on long without. A family jar. Fired with a house-wifely wish to see her store-room stalked with homemade preserves, she undertook to put up her own current jelly. John was requested to order home a dozen or so of little pots and an extra quantity of sugar for their own currents were ripe and were to be attended to at once. As John firmly believed that my wife was equal to anything and took a natural pride in her skill,

he resolved that she should be gratified and their only crop of fruit laid by in a most pleasing form for winter use. Home came four dozen delightful little pots, half a barrel of sugar, and a small boy to pick the currents for her. With her pretty hair tucked into a little cap, arms bare to the elbow, and a checked apron which had a coquettish look in spite of the bib, the young housewife fell to work, feeling no doubts about her success. For hadn't she seen Hannah do it hundreds of times. The array of pots rather amazed her at first, but John was so fond of jelly, and the nice These little jars would look so well on the top shelf that Meg resolved to fill them all, and spent a long day picking, boiling, straining, and fussing over her jelly. She did her best. She asked advice of Mrs. Cornelius. She racked her brain to remember what Hannah did that she had left undone. She reboiled, reshuggered, and restrained, but that dreadful stuff wouldn't gel. She longed to run home, bib and doll, and asked mother to lend a hand. But John and she had agreed that they would never annoy anyone with their private worries, experiments, or quarrels. They had laughed over that last word as if the idea it suggested was a most preposterous one, but they had held to their resolve. And whenever they could get on without help they did so, and no one interfered, for Mrs. March had advised the plan. So Meg rustled alone with the refractory sweet meets all that hot summer day and at five o'clock sat down in her topsy-turvy kitchen, rung her bedobed hands, lifted up her voice and wept. Now, in the first flush of the new life, she had often said, My husband shall always feel free to bring a friend home whenever he likes. I shall always be prepared. There shall be no flurry, no scolding, no discomfort. But at neat house, a cheerful wife, and a good dinner. John dear, never stop to ask my leave, invite whom you please, and be sure of a welcome from me. How charming that was to be sure. John quite gloed with pride to hear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a superior wife. But although they had had company from time to time, it never happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had an opportunity to distinguish herself till now. It always happens so in this veil of tears. There is an inevitability about such things which we can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as best we can. If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have been unpardonable in him to choose that day of all the days in the year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. congratulating himself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling sure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty wife came running out to meet him. He escorted his friend to his mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young host and husband. It is a world of disappointments as John discovered when he reached the dovecoat. The front door usually stood hospitably open. Now it was not only shut but locked. And yesterday's mud still adorned the steps. The parlor windows were

closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty wife sowing on the piyata in white with a distracting

little bow in her hair, or a bright eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she greeted her guest. Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared, but a sanguinary looking boy asleep under the curtain bushes. I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while I look up Mrs. Brooke, said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude. Around the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burnt sugar, and Mr. Scott strolled after him with a queer look on his face. He paused discreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared, but he could both see and hear, and being a bachelor enjoyed the prospect, mightily. In the kitchen, reigned confusion and despair. One addition of jelly was trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third was burning galley on the stove. Lottie, with tutonic flam, was calmly eating bread and current wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, sat sobbing dismally. My dear girl, what is the matter?" cried John, rushing in, with awful visions of scalded hands, sudden news of affliction, and secret consternation at the thought of the guest in the garden. Oh John, I am so tired and hot and cross and worried. I've been at it till I'm all worn out. Do come and help me or I shall die." And the exhausted housewife cast herself upon his breast, giving him a sweet welcome in every sense of the word, for her pinifour had been baptized at the same time as the floor. What worries you, dear? Has anything dreadful happened? Asked the anxious John, tenderly kissing the crown of the little cap, which was all a skew. Yes, sobbed Meg, despairingly. Tell me quick then, don't cry, I can't bear anything better than that, out with it love. The jelly won't gel and I don't know what to do. John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward. And the derisive scot smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peel, which put the finishing stroke to poor Meg's woe. Is that all? Fling it out the window. I don't bother anymore about it. I'll buy you quartz if you want it.

But for heaven's sake, don't have hysterics. For I've brought Jack Scott home to dinner and... John got no further. For Meg cast him off and clasped her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair,

exclaiming in a tone of mingled indignity. her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair,

exclaiming in a tone of mingled indignation, reproach, and dismay. A man to dinner and everything in a mess, John Brooke, how could you do such a thing? thing.

Hush, he's in the garden.

I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can't be helped now." Said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye. "'You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought to have remembered how busy I was." continued Meg, petulantly, for even turtle doves will pack when ruffled. I didn't know it this morning, and there was no time to send word for I met him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave when you have always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if I ever do it again.

Added John, with an aggrieved air, I should hope not, take him away at once, I can't see him, and there isn't any dinner. any dinner? Well, I like that. Where's the beef and vegetables I sent home and the

pudding you promised? Cryed John, rushing to the larder? I had in time to cook. I meant to dine at mothers. I'm sorry, but I was busy. And Meg's tears began again. John was a mild man, but he was human. And after a long day's work to come home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an empty table, and a crosswife was not exactly conducive to repose of mind or manner. He restrained himself, however, and the little squall would have blown over, but for one unlucky word. It's a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we'll pull through, and have a good time yet. Don't cry dear, but just exert yourself a bit and knock us up something to eat where both as hungry as hunters. So we shan't mind what it is. Give us the cold meat and bread and cheese and we won't ask for jelly. He meant it for a good nature joke, but that one word sealed his fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the last atom of patience vanished as he spoke. You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can. I'm too used up to exert myself for anyone. It's like a man to propose a bone and vulgar bread and cheese for company. I won't have anything of the sort in my house. Take that scott up to mothers and tell him I'm away. Sick. dead, anything. I won't see him and you too can laugh at me and my jelly as much as you like. You won't have anything else here. And having delivered her defiance all in one breath make cast away her pinnipore and precipitantly left the field to bemoan herself in her own room. What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew. But Mr. Scott was not taken up to mothers.

And when Meg descended, after they had strolled away together,

she found traces of a promiscuous lunch which filled her with horror.

Laughty reported that they had eaten a much and greatly laughed,

and the master bid her throw away all the sweet stuff and hide the pots. Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her own shortcomings, of loyalty to John, who might be cruel, but nobody should know it, restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up and clearing up, she dressed herself prettily and sat down to wait for John to come and be forgiven. Unfortunately, John didn't come, not seeing the matter in that light. He had carried it off as a good joke with Scott, excused his little wife as well as he could, and played the host so hospitably that his friend enjoyed the impromptu dinner, and promised to come again. But John was angry, though he did not show it. He felt that Meg had got him into a scrape, and then deserted him in his hour of need. It wasn't fair to tell a man to bring folks home anytime with perfect freedom, and when he took you up at the word, to flame up and blame him, and leave him in the large, to be laughed at or pitted, no by George it wasn't. And Meg must know it. He had fumed inwardly during the feast. But when the flurry was over, and he strolled home, after seeing Scott off. A milder mood came over him. Poor little thing. It was hard upon her when she tried so hardily to please me. She was wrong, of course. But then she was young. I must be patient and teacher. He hoped she had not gone home, he hated gossip and interference. For a minute he was ruffled again at the mere thought of it, and then the fear that Meg would cry herself sick softened his heart and sent him on at a quicker pace, resolving to be calm and kind, but firm, quite firm, and show her where she had failed in her duty to her spouse. Meg-like wise resolved to be calm and kind, but firm, and show him his duty. She longed to run to meet him and beg pardon, and be kissed and comforted, as she was sure of being, but of course she did nothing of the sort. And when she saw John coming, began to hum quite naturally, as she rocked and sowed, like a lady of leisure in her best parlor. John was a little disappointed not to find a tragic and tender wife, but feeling that his dignity demanded the first apology, he made none, only came leisurely in and laid himself upon the sofa with the singularly relevant remark. We are going to have a new moon, my dear. No Object no objection, was Meg's equally soothing remark. A few other topics of general interest were introduced by Mr. Brooke and what blanketed by Mrs. Brooke and conversation languished. John went to one window, unfolded his paper, and wrapped himself in it, figuratively speaking. Meg went to the other window, and soared as if new rosettes for her slippers were among the necessaries of life. Neither spoke, both looked quite calm and firm, and both felt desperately uncomfortable. Oh dear, Thought-Meg, married life is very trying, and does need infinite patience, as well as love, as Mother says. The word Mother suggested other maternal councils given long ago and received with unbelieving protests. John is a good man, but he has his faults, and you must learn to see and bear with them remembering your own. He is very decided, but never will be obstinate, if you reason kindly, not oppose impatiently. He is very accurate, in particular about the truth. A good trait, though you call him fussy. to deceive him by look or word, mag, and he will give you the confidence you deserve, the support you need. He has a temper, not like ours, one flash and then all over. But the white still anger that is seldom stirred, but once kindled, is hard to quench. Be careful, very careful, not to wake this anger against yourself, for peace and happiness depend on keeping his respect. Watch yourself. Be the first to ask pardon if you both air and guard against the little peaks, misunderstandings, and hasty words that often pave the way for bitter sorrow and regret. These words came back to Meg as she sat sowing in the sunset, especially the last. This was the first serious disagreement. Her own hasty speeches sounded both silly and unkind as she recalled them. Her own anger looked childish now, and thoughts of poor John coming home to such a scene quite melted her heart. She glanced at him with tears in her eyes, but he did not see them. She put down her work and got up thinking, I will be the first to say forgive me, but he did not seem to hear her. She went very slowly across the room for pride was hard to swallow and stood by him. But he did not turn his head. For a minute she felt as if she really couldn't do it, then came the thought, This is the beginning, I'll do my part and have nothing to reproach myself with. And stooping down, she softly kissed her husband on the forehead. Of course that settled it. The penitent kiss was better than a world of words. And John had her on his knee in a minute, saying tenderly, It was too bad to laugh at the poor little jelly-pots. Forgive me, dear, I never will again. But he did. Oh bless you. Yes, hundreds of times. And so did Meg. Both declaring that it was the sweetest jelly they ever made. For family peace was preserved in that little family jar. After this, Meg had Mr. Scott to dinner by special invitation and served him up a pleasant feast without a cooked wife for the first course. On which occasion she was so gay and gracious and made everything go off so charmingly that Mr. Scott told John he was a happy fellow and took his head over the hardships of bachelorhood all the way home. In the autumn, new trials and experiences came to Meg. Sally Moffett renewed her friendship, was always running out for a dish show gossip at the little house, or inviting that poor little deer to come in and spend the day in the big house.

It was pleasant for Indole weather Meg often felt lonely. All were busy at home. John absent till night and nothing to do but so or read or potter about. So it naturally fell out that Meg got into a way of gating

and gossiping with her friend.

Seeing Sally's pretty things made her long for such

...