Norvia gathered the books into her arms, one by one, reading the titles as she stacked. Little Women. Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea. What Katy Did. Emma. Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. The Secret Garden. The Little Girl Next Door. Under the Lilacs. Daddy-Long-Legs. Dandelion Cottage. Clover. Half a dozen Patty sequels. Pollyanna. An Old-Fashioned Girl. A Little Princess. The Story Girl.

She inhaled deeply, deciding to focus on her beloved books instead of Helen’s brush-offs. She couldn’t wait to go home and spend time with Bab and Betty in Under the Lilacs—or maybe she would stop at Sunnybrook Farm to visit Rebecca Randall—or sneak into The Secret Garden with Mary Lennox while Vernon played his harp. (She tried to read whenever Vernon played the harp; it lent such a golden etherealness to her reading experience.)

It occurred to Norvia that the qualities that made up a heroine were inside them—not things that other people had control over. Jo March’s noble desire to quench her temper and help her family; Anne Shirley’s fervent quest to find friends and point others to loveliness; Sara Crewe’s indomitable grace despite her poverty and loneliness—all these heroines were memorable because of their spirit and heart and inward beauty.