TWO
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Charles had just finished his work and was wiping his hands on his linsey-woolsey pants when he heard two things – the sound of multiple horses' hooves pounding into the town and the heart-rending cry of one little girl.
His little girl.
"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
For a moment he feared Laura had been trampled beneath the thundering hooves, but then Charles saw her running toward him as if life itself depended upon her reaching him. The men on horseback pulled to a sharp halt behind her and began to dismount. One of them was already off his horse and shouting at the top of his lungs. A narrow beam of light struck the tin star on his vest as he turned on his heel and headed for the Reverend Alden who was standing in the middle of the street holding the tray of sandwiches; his mouth agape. The few people who were milling about the town had quickly gathered around them. Lanterns in hand, they'd poured out of their houses and closed shops to fill the street.
Above the babble of voices he heard his child call his name again; her voice shrill, terrified.
Lost.
Dropping what he was holding, Charles began to run. Just as he reached her, Laura's toe struck something and she stumbled. He caught her in mid-fall and then nearly had the wind knocked out of him as Laura threw herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gripped him as tightly as she could.
"Pa! Oh, Pa!" she wailed.
"Half-pint?" he asked. "Laura? Laura! What is it?" A sudden fear gripped him as he looked around and failed to find Caroline. Disengaging his child's arms, he held her a short ways out so he could look into her eyes. "Half-pint, where's your ma?"
"She's...she's...Oh, Pa..." Laura broke down, sobbing again.
Charles embraced his child and held her as she trembled. He felt about as lost as she looked. As he stood up, drawing her with him, the curly-haired man took a step forward only to stop when he saw Robert Alden's face.
"Charles," the older man said. "You need to hear what Sheriff Andrews has to say."
His hand was on Laura's head. She was trembling. "Caroline?" he asked.
"She's alive, Charles," Robert paused and then added, quietly, "and in God's hands."
His eyes went from their minister to the lawman who stood a few feet behind him. The sheriff's steely gaze was fastened on the church. Charles turned to look and, for just a moment, spotted a man's face peering out of the open door.
And then the door was shut.
Turning back to Robert, he demanded, "What's happening? Reverend, who's in the church? Is it..." Suddenly it dawned on him – why Laura was so frightened. "Caroline? She's in there?"
"I think I can answer most of your questions," the man with the badge said. "Mister Ingalls, is it?"
He nodded, at a loss for words.
"Maybe..." The sheriff cleared his throat. "Mister Ingalls, is there someone who can watch your daughter while we talk?"
Charles read the unspoken message in the lawman's eyes.
"Laura can come to our house. She can stay with Willie and Nellie," Nels Oleson's familiar voice offered. Charles rounded to find the tall thin man just behind him. Willie and Nellie were at his side. So was Harriet.
She was wringing her hands.
Nels indicated the lawman. "We ran into Sheriff Andrews on the way to meet with the Cassidys. He turned us around. He said it wasn't..." The shopkeeper paused as if thinking through what he had to say. "Sheriff Andrews said it would be unwise for us to be out and about with Lucas Simmons on the loose."
Charles frowned. Lucas Simmons. Now, where had he heard that name?
"I advised the Olesons it would be best to postpone their trip until after I have Simmons in custody." Andrews' eyes went to Laura. "Just in case we had to chase him out of town, you understand?"
Charles nodded his gratitude.
"He's...in there, Pa. Lucas is with...Ma," his child breathed in his ear, fear choking her words. "Pa, he's...got...a gun."
Charles' heart stopped.
Harriet stepped forward. Her eyes were wide and glistening with unspent tears. "Charles," she began and then fell silent.
When it counted, people came through. Even old battle-axes.
He mouthed his 'thank you' and then pried Laura's little arms from his neck. Holding her out again he waited until she meet his eyes. When she did, he told her, "Laura, I want you to go with the Olesons."
She was already shaking her head. "Pa...no..."
"Yes. That's not a request, Half-pint, it's an order. You understand?" When the little girl continued to shake her head, he said, more gently. "I got more than enough worryin' to do about your ma. How can I take care of her if I'm worryin' about you too?"
"We can play a game, Laura," Nellie said, actually trying to be helpful.
"Yeah," Willie echoed. "And we can have dessert. Can we have dessert, Pa?" he asked Nels.
"We'll do whatever it takes to make Laura feel at home," Harriet said as she took Willie by the hand. "Won't we Nellie?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the blonde girl said. Nellie held out her hand toward his child. "Come with me, Laura."
His child shifted in his arms. "Pa? Do I have to?"
Charles pulled his daughter close, kissed her hair, and then planted her feet on the ground. "Half-pint, I need you go with the Olesons, you hear?" At her reluctant nod, he added, "Your ma's in God's house. You have to trust Him to take care of her."
The curly-haired man drew in a breath and held it.
He had to trust God to take care of Caroline too.
"Okay, Pa," she said at last. "But you come and get me the minute you got ma. Promise?"
Charles forced a smile. "Promise." As he spoke, his gaze went to Nels and then Harriet. "Thanks," he said and meant it.
The shopkeeper's hand landed on his shoulder. "Anytime, Charles. You do what you have to do to get Caroline back and don't worry about Laura, she'll be safe with us."
Do what he had to do.
Yes.
That was exactly what he intended to do.
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Caroline had resumed her seat at the table where she'd been working. It was positioned near the altar. She nervously fingered one of the paraffin coated leaves her children had made as she watched Lucas pace at the back of the sanctuary. She wondered if he'd remembered to lock the back entrance when he came in. The Reverend Alden or Charles might attempt to come in that way if he hadn't.
And Lucas' finger never left the trigger.
From her vantage point by the altar, Caroline studied the young man. He had the look of someone who had gone without a good meal or a decent night's sleep for some time. Lucas' skin was pale, his cheeks gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. In fact, he looked entirely unhealthy. She'd noticed that his hands were calloused, so – most likely – he was a farmer or laborer. If so, he should have spent most of his days in the sun and been tanned by this time of the year. The fact that he was not suggested he'd recently spent a lot of time indoors. Considering the vehement declaration the young man had made to 'never go back', she had a pretty good idea of why he had.
Lucas was an escaped prisoner.
They had prison wagons go through Walnut Grove from time to time, on their way to the territorial prison. It always broke her heart to see the men – and occasionally women – who occupied them dressed in filthy rags and confined like animals. No matter what crimes they'd committed, they were human beings and deserved to be treated with some dignity. As was often the case, Lucas' crime could have been something as simple, like stealing a loaf of bread or a few goods from a store. Caroline's gaze returned to the young man and to the gun he held.
Of course, it could also have been murder.
Caroline gnawed her lower lip as she considered the words her captor had spoken earlier. Then, breaking the silence, she prompted, "Lucas. Tell me about your mother."
He jerked to a stop and turned to look at her. "Why?"
She let out a sigh. "Well, because you're holding me here and I think you owe it to me to at least tell me why. Why do you need sanctuary and from what?"
"From that bastard William Andrews," he snarled and then thought better of it. "Sorry, Ma'am."
"That's a pretty strong word." With strong feeling behind it. "Who is William Andrews?"
"Sheriff William Blain Andrews." He scoffed, "He don't deserve that badge he's wearing."
"Why not?" At his angry look she added, "I can't know unless you tell me."
Lucas stepped to the side and checked the door again, no doubt wanting to be sure the wooden pole was still in place. Once he was content that it was, he returned to the pew. "I shouldn't be in prison," he said as he leaned on it. "That villain should."
"What'd he do?" she asked.
"Killed my ma!" he spat. "And blamed it on me!"
Caroline knew that criminals often lied – and that sometimes they believed their own lies. Was Lucas a criminal, she wondered?
"And just how did he do that?"
Lucas blinked as his eyes filled with tears. He sniffed and struck one away before answering. "Ma and me...we was arguing. She was..." He hesitated, sniffed again, and went on. "God knows why, but she liked him. Andrews was at our house all the time. I never did trust him. I don't know why, but I didn't. Him and some of his men caught me and threw me in jail one day. When I got out and went home, I found the house on fire. Ma was...in it. Andrews told everyone I done it and that his men saw me riding away from the scene." Lucas winced as if in pain. "He's a big man in Mankato. The judge believed him." The young man's fingers balled into a fist and he struck the back of the pew. "The judge sent me to prison for twenty-five years!"
Caroline was trying to process what he'd said. It was hard to know if it was the truth.
"That's a long time," she commiserated.
"I'd be near forty by the time I got out! I couldn't..." He was breathing fast. "I was gonna die in that place. It was horrible. You... Ma'am, you have no idea. So when I had a chance, I took it. I escaped!" He paled and looked down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
Looking at Lucas – at his slumped shoulders and crestfallen face – Caroline knew the answer, but she asked anyhow. "Did someone get hurt?"
He nodded his head. His voice shook as he answered, "A deputy guarding me."
"Did you kill him?"
"NO!" he screamed. "No, I... At least, I didn't mean to. I hit him with the chains. I heard...later that he died." Lucas' brown eyes were tear-filled. "Really. If I killed him, I didn't mean to. I just..had to get away."
The situation had just gone from hopeful to downright hopeless. If Lucas had killed a lawman – even if he was innocent of his mother's death – the law was going to hunt him down like an animal.
Unless what he said about Sheriff Andrews was true and he could prove it.
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"Now you just hold those farm-bred horses of yours , Ingalls. If anyone is going into that church, it's me," William Andrews countered stubbornly.
Charles' held the lawman's gaze. He matched him tone for tone. "It's my wife in there , not yours."
Sheriff Andrews was a hard case. He was burnt and grizzled from the sun, about sixty, and so tough he could've chewed up nails and spit out tacks. Charles watched as the tall man ran a hand over his leathery face. It was obvious the lawman was close to exhaustion and his nerves were on edge. The sheriff had drawn him, along with a half-dozen of the leading citizens of Walnut Grove, into the feed and seed building where they were having a 'discussion' about to how to proceed.
A very one-sided discussion.
Charles could tell the sheriff didn't like him. That was all right, because he didn't like the sheriff much either. The man was arrogant and had no interest in anyone's opinion other than his own. The lawman was planning on battering down the door to the church and forcing a confrontation with Simmons.
With his wife in the middle of that confrontation.
It was plain as the badge on the lawman's black leather vest that there was something personal involved. Andrews tried to put it off to the fact that Lucas Simmons had killed one of his deputies who was serving as a guard while escaping, but the older man's hatred went too deep for that. Charles sighed. Try as he might, he couldn't recall the details of the crime that had made it into the newspapers. He'd seen the headlines when he was in Mankato to pick up supplies and, though he hadn't read the articles himself, the trial was the talk of the town. He remembered the gossip goin' 'round was that the woman who had got herself killed had been involved with the local sheriff. Her son, a hardened criminal, had taken exception to that and burned their house down with his ma inside. If he recalled right, there were some as held to that story. But there were others – including the man who owned the feed store – who said Lucas Simmons was a good boy who loved his ma and the sheriff was the one to blame.
Charles glanced at wizened lawman. He sure wished he could remember if that sheriff had been named Andrews, because if William Andrews was the one who had been involved with Simmons' ma, that put a whole different spin on him insistin' on bein' the one to go into the church first.
Andrews cleared his throat to get his attention. "You're not a lawman, Ingalls. You're not qualified to negotiate with the prisoner."
Charles refused to be intimidated. "I may not be a lawman, sheriff, but I am a citizen of this town and that's my wife in there and if these men," he indicated his friends, "say I am qualified, then I'm qualified."
His gaze went from Nels Oleson to Lars Hanson, and then past them to the Reverend Alden. Robert was watching him closely, his light blue eyes narrowed in thought. Two of Andrews' deputies were watching him as well. One looked amused. The other, uncomfortable.
"This here badge," Andrews pulled on it, moving the tin star away from the black leather, "says otherwise."
"That badge gives you authority in Mankato," Nels said quietly. "Not in Walnut Grove."
The curly-haired man nodded, thanking his friend for his support.
"Charles."
He turned to look again at the Reverend Alden. "Yes?"
"Do you think it wise for you to be the one to go in?"
He frowned. Of all people, he'd expected Robert to back him up. "Of course it is."
"Think about it, Charles. If you go in then both you and Caroline are at risk." The minister paused. "You need to think of your children..."
Charles frowned at the unfinished portion of that sentence. '...should anything go wrong.'
"Lucas Simmons is a killer, Mister Ingalls," Andrews declared. "While he might hesitate to shoot a woman, he would think nothing of cutting you down. You should listen to your parson."
Arrogant and smug. The man's attitude sent shivers up his back.
"I'll take my chances."
William Andrews looked at the sober faces surrounding him. "I can order you all incarcerated."
"No, you can't. Not vitout a court order," Lars Hanson said. "You hold no jurisdiction here."
"I don't think you and your two deputies are quite enough to take on the whole town," Nels added quietly.
"You want to get your friend killed? Is that it?" the lawman all but shouted.
Charles' jaw was tight. "I'm willing to take my chances. Somehow, I think if Lucas Simmons was the monster as you claim he is, he never would have let my daughter go."
William Andrews tried to stare him down. When that didn't work, the sheriff moved in closer, using his greater height to intimidate him.
Or trying to.
"You get in my way, Mister Ingalls, and I will charge you with interfering with the duty of a sworn officer of the law. You may save your wife, but you won't see her or your children for ten years or more." Andrews reached out and punched his chest with two fingers. "And that's a promise."
Charles waited two heartbeats before leaning in and replying. "You touch me again and I promise you won't be seein' anything!"
"Go ahead," the lawman dared him. "Strike me. You'll go to jail all the sooner."
A hand came down on his shoulder. The Reverend Alden, always the voice of reason, said, "Charles, defiance of the law isn't the answer. You'll do your wife and children no good if you end up sitting in a jail in Mankato."
"I got the cuffs with me, Ingalls. Just push me far enough," Andrews warned.
"Sheriff."
It was Nels. They all turned toward the shopkeeper. "Sheriff Andrews. Speaking for the citizen's committee of Walnut Grove, I and the other men have agreed to debate the issue – in your absence – and come to a decision. Let us know where we can find you and we'll let you know what it is." The tall thin man turned toward him. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave as well, Charles."
"Perhaps you should go see Laura," the reverend suggested. "She has to be beside herself with worry."
Charles looked at Robert Alden, gauging the minister's words against the look out of his pale blue eyes. After a moment, he ducked his head.
"Yeah, I should probably do that."
As Charles headed for the door, William Andrews called out. "And don't get any idea in your head about going near that church, Ingalls. You hear me? I'm leaving my man to watch it. No one is to go through those doors. Deputy Jackson here," he indicted the edgy looking man, "is authorized to stop anyone who tries – with deadly force if necessary."
Charles hesitated only a moment before replying, "Seems funny to me that killin' a man for tryin' to protect his wife is okay in your book, Andrews. Makes a man wonder what else you might have thought was all right."
With that, he moved through the feed and seed and walked out the door.
Once outside, Charles turned his feet toward the Oleson's house. He noticed as he did how Deputy Jackson followed him and dogged his steps. Charles shook his head as he walked. Seemed to him that a man ought to have a right to take a stroll in his own town without someone following him, and especially someone with less than the best of intentions. Sheriff Andrews had made it plain as day that he'd authorized Jackson to cause him bodily harm. The curly-haired man's lips curled in a smile. If it came to it, seemed to him as well that he had every right to fight back. He was sure any judge would agree with him.
Well, almost sure.
As Charles took a turn around the back of the Oleson's house, Deputy Jackson put on more speed to catch him up. He drew in a breath as he stepped into the shadows.
One way or the other, he was about to find out.
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"I swear, Laura Ingalls, you won't give a body a chance to do something nice for you!" Nellie Oleson exclaimed as she threw the fancy ribbon and lace dressed doll she was holding into the corner of her room. Stamping her foot, the spoiled girl declared, "You've been wanting to hold that doll for a year!"
Laura drew in a deep shuddering breath and lifted her head from her folded arms. She was laying on her stomach on Nellie's bed and all she wanted in the whole wide world was for everyone to go away and leave her alone.
Well, that, and for her ma and pa to be okay.
Nellie – being Nellie – had stood at the window giving her a blow by blow report of everything that was going on in the street outside even though she'd asked her to stop, telling her a 'body has to be informed' if they're going to make wise decisions. Because of that she knew her ma was still alone in the church with the man with the gun and Pa was so mad at the sheriff from Mankato he could spit nails. Nellie overheard her pa say that the sheriff didn't want Pa to go in where her Ma was and – truth to tell – she didn't want him to go in there either because she was afraid he would get killed, but if Pa didn't go in she was sure Ma would get killed, and so she did want him to.
Get Ma, not get killed.
"I'm sorry, Nellie," the brown-haired girl lied between clenched teeth. "It's awful nice of you to want to let me hold your doll, but I don't want to do nothin' right now but see my ma and pa."
"Well, that's not going to happen any time soon," Nellie announced. "There will have to be some kind of a showdown, I'm sure, where the sheriff will go in with guns blazing before anyone comes out. Knowing your pa, he won't listen to the law and he'll get in the way." The rich girl tossed her golden ringlets so they bounced on her shoulders as she smirked. "My mother says that Charles Ingalls is the most pig-headed man she's ever met and he'll probably do something stupid and get himself killed!"
Laura's jaw went tight, just like her pa's did. Her fingers clenched into fists. "You take that back, Nellie Oleson."
Nellie sneered. "Why should I? It's the God's honest truth and the Good Book says we should always tell the truth."
Laura was on her feet. "I'll tell you the truth, Nellie Oleson, just like the Good Book says! You are the meanest, most awful, most selfish person I ever met! The only reason you ever do anythin' for anybody is to make yourself look good and you might as well not try because you're just about as ugly as they come!"
She shouldn't have said that last part, but – dang it! Nellie had made her mad!
The blonde girl was spluttering. "I...well, I... I never!" Nellie's hands went to her hips. "How dare you say such horrible things after my ma and pa took you in tonight because they know by morning you and your sisters are going to be orphans and this is the last nice place you'll ever stay!" Nellie's nose wrinkled with distaste. "You're going to grow up in an orphanage, Laura Ingalls. You'll get to sleep in a metal bed with filthy sheets and ten other children and play with rats and eat gruel!"
Nellie's little brother, Willie – who up until that moment had been sitting on the floor between them playing quietly with a herd of painted horses – grinned broadly as he turned to look at her.
"Your turn, Laura!" he announced.
Laura scowled. She sure wasn't sure just who he was rooting for!
Drawing herself up to her full height, which – sadly – was still about four inches shorter than Nellie, the little girl shot back, "I may grow up in an orphanage, but that's all right." Laura walked right up to the taller girl and stuck her finger in her pinafore. "One of these days, Nellie Oleson, your pa is going wake up to the fact that you are mean as a snake and toss you out on your ear and you'll end up livin' on the street!"
"My father would never do anything of the kind. He loves me!" Nellie declared, her voice wobbling just a little.
"He don't love you. He just feels sorry for you."
Laura could hear her ma speakin' in her ear, tellin' her she wasn't being Christian, but the part of her that was all Charles Ingalls had just got started.
"And you know why? 'Cause of there ain't another person in the world who would put up with you. Not even that old battle-axe of a mother you got wrapped around your little pinky!"
Willie eyed the two of them and then rose to his feet and got out of the way.
It was a good thing he did.
'Cause ten seconds later Nellie had one less golden ringlet to bounce.
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Charles cast a last glance at the deputy he had less-than-politely 'asked' to stop following him where he lay on the ground, and then rounded the Oleson's and headed for the church – careful to keep close to the shadows that lined the street. He couldn't be sure that Andrews hadn't left another man behind, though he'd seen the sheriff and the amused deputy ride out of town about the same time he'd headed out of the feed and seed. Supposedly, Andrews was going for reinforcements. The lawman said he had a half-dozen men camped about a mile outside of town, includin' some who had been a friend to the man Lucas Simmons' was accused of killing.
Men who would be none too happy with him for what he was about to do.
It didn't matter. Facing time in jail didn't matter. All that mattered was Caroline who was alone in the church with a desperate man with a gun.
As Charles neared the white clapboard structure, he halted and took up a position near the back within a line of trees. From there he surveyed the yard. As he suspected, Andrews second deputy had doubled back. Every so many minutes the lawman made a circuit of the area surrounding the church. After watching for a while, the curly-haired man decided he was the only one. Andrews probably thought that, between Jackson and him, there was no way he could get in. Charles pursed his lips and shook his head. William Andrews must be a single man.
The threat of Hell couldn't have stopped him from gettin' into that church and saving his wife.
Moving with stealth, the curly-haired man headed for the rear entrance. He timed his arrival to coincide with Andrews' deputy moving to the front. As the man rounded the structure Charles stepped into a puddle of moonlight, and then dashed across the yard to the short flight of steps that led up and into the back of the church. Luck or God was with him and he made it without being seen. With every nerve on edge, he took hold of the handle of the door and turned it. It opened! Stepping inside, Charles quietly pulled the door to behind him and then locked it from the inside. After drawing a couple of breaths to steady his nerves, the curly-haired man made his way through the cluttered room and over to the door that led into the sanctuary. There were a few creaky boards on the way. He remembered them from when he had helped the reverend move some furniture into the room not all that long ago. He was careful to avoid them.
Once he reached the door, Charles saw that it was standing partially open. He could see through the opening into the church. Lucas Simmons was sitting at the back on one of the pews closest to the wall.
He couldn't see Caroline.
Pivoting on his heel, Charles pressed his back up against the wall and waited for God or the gunman to make a move.
Whichever came first.
