As with my Little House on the Prairie fan fiction, 'Walking through Fire', 'It Is Well' is based on a chapter from Laura Ingalls Wilder's initial book. In chapter twelve, Half-pint relates the real-life story of her Pa and the dangers of digging a well. Once again, I was surprised that Michael Landon never dramatized this exciting tale from Laura's life. This short story is my attempt to do so.

Again, I have taken the action from the Kansas frontier and brought it to Walnut Grove. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One is rated PG-13 for adult situations. The remaining chapters are just PG.

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ONE

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"Psst. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Laura Ingalls, a tiny and anything but tidy little girl with freckles on her nose and long hair reachin' down to the middle of her back that she called reddish-brown, her Ma called light brown, and her Pa just plain called 'pretty', sighed.

She really hated it when her sister did that. It was just plain silly. A body didn't need to say anythin' at all if all they was gonna do was to answer a person's question with another question.

With a frown on her face, the eight-year-old shifted on top of her sister.

"What are you doing?" Mary demanded.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm gettin' out of bed."

"Whatever for?"

That was another silly thing – askin' a person what they were doing when what they were doing was plain to see as the nose on your face! Only Mary's nose wasn't 'plain' to see 'cause it was night time and they were in their loft room under order to have the lamp out and, well, Mary was in a tent of darkness created by the coverlet that was hangin' off of her shoulders on account of the fact that she was sittin' on top of her sister and still wearin' it.

"I'm gettin' out of bed 'cause I'm goin' to the window. That's whatever for," Laura sighed as her bare feet hit the floor.

"Ma will hear you. You're gonna be in trouble."

When she reached the window, Laura planted her hands on her hips and turned back into the room. "No, I ain't! Shows what you know. Ma won't hear me 'cause Ma's outside listenin' just like me."

Mary sat up in bed. She rolled her eyes and then demanded, "Listening to what?"

Sometimes she wondered if her sister was a little deaf.

"Whistlin'."

Her sister Mary was about the prettiest thing she'd ever seen. When God was handing out looks in their family, Mary got most of them. Her skin was the color of cream and her lips and cheeks pink as blush roses. She had the longest, straightest, most gorgeous-est pale blonde hair and the biggest, darkest, widest blue eyes west of the Mississippi, as Pa liked to say. 'Mm-mm,' she'd heard Pa say one night when he didn't know she was listenin'. 'Mary's so pretty, one day that girl's gonna turn some poor fellow's head so far around he'll end up walkin' backwards.' Her ma had laughed at that. 'What about Laura?' Ma asked.

'Half-pint?' he'd asked. 'She's so cute some little bug's gonna come right along and roll her up in his rug.'

Cute. She guessed that was all right. But it wasn't the same thing as 'pretty'.

Even she knew that.

Mary tossed the coverlet aside. "Is it Pa?" she asked as she slipped into her slippers.

"Ain't Ma gonna be mad at you for bein' up?" Laura demanded as she joined her.

Mary frowned. "I thought you said Ma was outside."

Well, she did. She was just hopin' Mary'd forgotten so she'd get just a little scared that she'd be in trouble.

But she was just as smart as she was pretty.

Her sister wrinkled her nose as she peered out the window. Then she pulled the sleeve of her nightdress down and wiped away some of the moisture that had formed on the glass. It was late summer and so humid you could see the mist risin' off the corn crop.

"I don't see anything but Ma. Do you really think it's Pa?"

They hadn't seen their pa in a few days. He'd been away helpin' their neighbor, Mr. Scott. Mr. and Mrs. Scot were older than Ma and Pa. Their kids were all grown up and lived far away, so they didn't know that the Scots had a whirlwind go over their place and it had torn the roof right off of their barn. If they'd of knowed that, she was sure they would have come right back to patch it up. As it was, Pa was doin' it instead. She was proud of her pa for helpin' out the neighbors, but she sure did miss seein' him.

And now he might be home!

Laura pressed her nose to the glass next to Mary's and squinted. Then she sighed. A body just about couldn't see anything.

"He's gotta be comin'. I'd know that whistle anywhere."

Her pa had a lot of whistles. He had one for when he wanted them. It was sort of a long, low one with a little trill at the end. Then there was the one that meant 'hurry up'. It was short and fast. It kind of sounded like Pa was callin' Jack in. But her favoritest one was the one she was sure she'd heard. It was long and then short and it meant Pa'd caught sight of Ma and he sure liked what he saw.

Mary was squinting – and frowning too. "I can't see Ma either."

Laura knew why. She could see the shuttered lantern on the ground. There were shadows moving in front of it.

She giggled.

"He's kissin' her, that's why."

Her sister turned toward her. "Now, just how – Laura Ingalls – do you know that?!"

Laura sighed. "'Cause Pa does that every time he comes home and Ma's waitin' outside for him. He don't even wait to get her in the house before he starts kissin' her."

Mary scowled at her. "Doesn't," she corrected. "Laura, when are you going to learn to speak correctly?"

She was right. Their Ma had been a school teacher and she was always tellin' her to use other words and not to forget to put the 'g' on the end of thin's – er...'things'.

"I will when Pa does!" she countered with a wrinkle of her nose. Mary hadn't annoyed her enough quite yet to follow that action with a stuck out tongue. "Ma don't correct Pa."

Mary looked out the window again. "Nope. She just kisses him."

Laura looked again too. It was Pa all right. He had the lantern in his hand and had opened the shutter so the light flooded out. His other arm was around Ma's waist and he was leanin' down, kissin' her on the neck.

"You think Ma will call us to come down? Or maybe Pa will come up to tuck us in – er – back in bed?"

Mary continued to stare out the window a moment. Then she shook her head. "They've got better things to do," she said, her tone odd.

Now, what could be better than kissin' your little girls and tuckin' them in for the night? Sometimes, no matter how many firsts Mary got, she wondered just how smart her sister really was.

"Like what?" she demanded.

Mary turned toward her, rolled her eyes again, and then took her hand and started to drag her back to bed. "You'll understand in a few years."

Laura dug her heels in. "Understand what?"

Her sister sighed. "You sure can be a nuisance some times. You know. What a ma and pa do when they want more babies."

Now, that was a puzzlement to her. She never noticed them doin' anything' different. Ma and Pa kissed and hugged and went to bed together and got up together and most of the time there weren't any extra babies, and then, all of a sudden, there were! She'd never figured it out. She'd asked Pa one day, right after Pat and Patty had their baby – when Ma wasn't around – if babies were made the same way by people as they were by animals. She'd never seen him turn so red! Pa told her 'yes and no', that while it was kind of the same, it was different, and then he'd said he had to go look after Carrie, which was funny, 'cause Ma had Carrie right there with her by the clothes line and didn't look like she needed any help.

Ma'd looked at him funny too.

Mary climbed into the bed and patted the covers next to her. With a sigh, Laura joined her and settled in. They laid there for a few minutes, listening to the door open, to Pa's heavy footsteps and Ma's light ones as they crossed the room, and then to the two of them talking. They were talking low, so all she could hear was the sound of their voices and not the words they were saying. Ma sounded kind of upset at one point, but soon enough the light went out and there were more footsteps and she knew they had gone to bed.

Their little house in Walnut Grove was big compared to the sod house and the cabin they'd had on the prairie. They had their own room and so did Carrie, and there was a big room that served as parlor, dining room, and kitchen. Ma and Pa's room was near the back, and was kind of underneath theirs. Usually they were both asleep long before their parents went to bed, but every once in a while she would lay there and listen to the sounds. They didn't make sense to her, but she loved those sounds anyway. Sometimes when Pa kissed Ma she would suck in her breath, like he'd startled her, and let out a little sigh. Sometimes when Pa was real happy he'd laugh and then just as suddenly cry. When she laid there listenin' to those sounds, that's what they were – little sighs, moans, laughter and tears – each and every one of them made her so happy that she'd like to die.

She was just about the luckiest little girl on the face of the whole wide world 'cause her ma and pa loved each other just as much as they loved her and her sisters.

Laura heard a giggle. It was her ma this time.

Closing her eyes, the little girl nestled against her sleeping sister and slipped into sleep herself with a smile on her lips.

Maybe even a little more.

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Caroline shivered at the touch of her husband's hands. They were strong, calloused hands, rough as sandpaper and scarred in places. The hands of a hard-working man; a man who gave his all every day and in every way for their community, their farm, for their children and for her. There were times when Charles worked from sun-up to sundown and came in from the fields exhausted and fell instantly asleep, and other times when he would sit up for a while after his return, sipping coffee, listening patiently as she chattered on about everything that had happened during her day, barely giving him time to draw a breath.

And then there were times like tonight, when Charles put a finger to her lips, took her hand, and led her to the bed they shared.

And to ecstasy.

It didn't matter how many times they came together as the Lord intended, each time her breath was stolen away. If it hadn't been for Solomon's Song of Songs, she would have felt she loved Charles too much. But this was as God intended, for the two to become one, for them to cling to one another – setting all others aside. For a husband and wife to find, in each other's arms, something that was found nowhere else and to draw strength from it as they drew pleasure from each other's bodies; from their lover's taste and touch.

Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattice. My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me...show me your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.

God alone knew how much she loved him. There were times when it frightened her just how much she did. Times when, during love-making, she would cling to him so tightly she wondered that he did not break. He would look at her then, his eyes black and shining in the moonlight, leeched of color in the silver wonder of their bed. In those eyes she saw understanding. The things of this world were temporal. Charles knew as well as she did there was no guarantee that the heart that beat so hard and fast against his own would still pulse with life the following day. Already in their marriage of a little over ten years she had faced moments where she thought she had lost him – to the rushing waters of the river as they made their way to Kansas and to a malady that nearly claimed them all, but struck Charles the hardest because he would not stop to care for himself.

To a fall from a tree.

It had been a pleasant day. A picnic. The kite he was flying had landed in the branches of a tall tree. Twenty feet he fell out of that tree. Twenty feet! She'd never forget seeing him strike the ground, not knowing if the life had been knocked out of him along with his breath.

Each of these moments made being with him all the more precious.

She had no knowledge of other men and a proper woman did not listen to gossip. But as those hands drew her closer and a pleasure so intense it brought pain arched her back, Caroline recalled the words her mother had spoken to her when she turned thirteen and boys began to call.

'Men will have their way. When the time comes, it will be your duty to submit, but don't expect your pleasure to equal his.'

Caroline laughed as Charles' lips brushed her cheek. He whispered something in her ear and his hands moved down.

Her mother had been right in a way. Her pleasure did not equal Charles'.

It far exceeded it.

Caught in the moment, she heard herself moan. Guilt flooded her, lessening her joy for a moment as her eyes went to the far corner of the ceiling of the room they shared, which was also Mary and Laura's floor. Charles must have sensed the change in her because his fingers caught her chin, directing her eyes to meet his own.

"There is no... shame in...love," he said, breathless.

Images flashed before her eyes. Her mother, batting her father's hand away – chiding him as he playfully patted her behind. The older woman's indignation when he kissed her in public. How they sat inches apart in the church pew – and at home.

She craved Charles' touch. It was a hunger, as deep a hunger as she had ever known. She could not imagine turning him away – even if she did bat his hand away in public now and then.

Her laugh startled him. He stared at her a moment and then grinned.

"You are a wicked woman, Caroline Ingalls. Do you know that?" he whispered in her ear.

Yes, she knew it.

And she wouldn't have had it any other way.