“Tomorrow we’ll have the first of the strawberries,” Louisa promised as she laid the table for the evening meal. “But for tonight, the pickings are slim.” Even though Fred was accustomed to their ways, Louisa felt ashamed of the plain fare she served. Soup—again—bread, and the last of the apples made up the entire dinner. “Louisa!” Her father shot her a disapproving look. “Plain food strengthens the body, but too much richness weakens the mind.” “Maybe so, sir,” Fred said. “But to my mind, the c...ompany is what makes a meal worth eating, and I’d choose the Alcott table over an extravagant feast with anyone else.” Bronson clapped him on the shoulder. “Well expressed, young Fred.” “Oh yes,” echoed Beth faintly, her eyes fixed on Fred’s face. “Enough, or we’ll all get swelled heads,” Louisa grumbled. “At least the flowers are pretty.” She gestured to the sideboard where a vase stood, filled with the flowers Fred had brought. Fred had presented them to Beth like a knight giving his lady a token.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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