THREE

In the end he and Doc Baker picked the boy up and carried him out to the sod house. Caroline followed, but after making a pleasant bed for him, she returned to the house and the girls. It meant more time away from his family strictly devoted to the boy, but Charles just didn't feel comfortable leaving the volatile young man in the house. It also allowed him to lock the boy in for his own good.

He hadn't decided yet whether or not he was going to do that.

He and the doctor were standing on the raised stoop outside the sod house. Hiram was polishing his eyeglasses with a linen cloth. "I wonder who he is," he said, "and what he's doing in Walnut Grove."

There were rumors in the town of residents who had Indian in-laws they refused to acknowledge. There was so much hate left from the Dakota War people were afraid to admit it. It was like the Indians were monsters instead of men. While he disagreed with the savagery and killing done in the war, in the end the natives who had attacked the settlers were men who believed they were protecting their homes and their way of life. Could he fault that?

Had he done any different when threatened?

Charles shook his head. "From the reaction I got last night, I doubt he's gonna tell us much of anything." He took several steps down toward the yard. "He'll probably heal up and be on his way and that will be the end of – "

"Charles."

He looked up at the Doctor. The blond man's face was unreadable. "What?"

Doc Baker nodded toward the road. "You've got company."

At that instant, Caroline opened the door and stepped out. "Charles, what's going on?"

"Get back in the house!" he shouted as he turned to look. "Now!"

Riding down the road, just about to make the turn into the yard, were a dozen men. Some were on foot and others led their horses. At the head of them was Jim Rhodes; his eye black, his face swollen, and his jaw jutted out in defiance. By the way he swayed on his feet, it was obvious he was intoxicated. Charles' gaze swept over the other men. He wondered if they were as well.

Hiram joined him as the men drew to a halt in front of the sod house.

"You got that Injun here?" Rhodes demanded.

"What's it to you if I do?" Charles countered. "This is my property."

Rhodes glanced at the man at his side. Charles recognized him as Jeremy Stokes, a well-known Indian hater. There were other men from the town too, including the pair that had been with Rhodes the night before. Some looked uncertain.

Most just angry.

"It may be your property, Ingalls, but it's our town," Stokes proclaimed. "We don't want any stinkin' heathens here."

The men around him nodded and grunted their assent.

Charles hesitated, choosing his words. It seemed to him that the 'heathens' in the town were in front of and not behind him.

"The Good Book says to love your enemies, Jeremy. Jim." Charles remained firmly planted where he was even as several of the men dismounted and moved up the low hill. "It seems to me you are forgetting that."

He thought it might shame them. He was wrong.

It infuriated them.

"That only counts for white men!" someone, unseen, shouted from the back of the mob.

"Indians ain't even human!" another cried.

"What's the problem, Indian lover? He one of your own?"

Charles stiffened with rage. Hiram's hand on his shoulder and his soft words checked it before he could do something he would regret.

"It's not worth it, Charles," he said near his ear. "They're not worth it."

Several deeps breaths calmed him – somewhat.

"Get off my land!" Charles shouted.

"Truth hurt, Ingalls?" Jim Rhodes said, his tone snide as he advanced a few steps forward. "We know the half-breed was in town asking for you. Has to be a reason. We figured maybe you got a special reason for lovin' Injuns."

He frowned. "What do you mean, 'asking' for me?"

"He came in the Oleson's store looking for you specific, Ingalls," an anonymous voice answered. "Gotta be a reason."

Charles glanced at the doctor who shrugged. Turning back to the crowd, the curly-haired man stared at them a moment and then walked boldly forward. Stopping in front of Jim Rhodes, he said, "Look, why don't you go home, Jim? Nothing good can come of you being here in this condition. Let me deal with this. I'll see what the boy wants."

Quicker than his eye could follow, Jim's hand shot out and caught him by the collar. "I ain't drunk enough to miss what's going on!" he snarled. "You need to think about your family, Ingalls. You're breaking the law, harboring a savage. " Jim looked back at the men with him. One of them beckoned to him. With a final grunt, the man released him and rejoined them. Seeking safety in numbers, no doubt. "It's no wonder the town folk are thinkin' what they're thinkin'," he called from their midst. "Why else would you take the chance of endin' up in jail?"

Even as his fingers formed into fists, Hiram cautioned. "Charles, he's not worth it."

Rhodes was grinning like a fat cat with his paw on the mouse's tail. He knew what the Doc meant, but he twisted it another way.

"The Doc's right, Ingalls. No half-breed is worth it," Jim said, his lips curling with disdain. "I wonder if Mrs. Ingalls knew what else you'd had before her?"

Jim was goading him.

It worked.

His temper lost, Charles marched straight into the middle of the roiling, angry mass of men. Even though Rhodes was a big man, he was a farmer, which meant he was well-muscled and powerful as well. Jim was already hurtin' and Charles saw fear enter the drunkard's eyes as he rolled his sleeves up and pushed through the crowd until they were toe to toe.

"Jim, I'm gonna give you one chance to make things right," Charles said, his jaw set; his tone even. "Just one."

"Ingalls," Jeremy Stokes said, "you know he didn't mean it."

"I know no such thing!" he countered sharply. "I take a man at his word, no matter how revoltin' that word is." Holding Jim Rhodes' gaze, he said, "I'd like an apology, Jim. Now, before this gets out of hand."

Rhodes stood there, blinking, for several heartbeats. Then, instead of offering an apology he said, "I don't understand you, Ingalls. Why would you stick up for a dirty half-breed if he means nothing to you?"

For a moment, he had nothing to say. How did you put into words a truth that should be intrinsic to a man's soul?

Charles felt Doctor Baker's presence beside him. The blond man had pushed through the crowd as well, joining him in friendship and in peril.

"That half-breed, as you call him, is first and foremost a boy." He looked at his neighbors, holding their gazes, moving from one to the next. "A boy like yours, Luke. Like your son, Jeremy. Jim. He has a father and mother somewhere who love him. Maybe brothers and sisters. He has a heart and a soul and a mind, and he's your neighbor just as surely as I am. God is not partial . There's nowhere in the Good Book that says a man is not your neighbor because his skin is a different color and his ways are not your ways. And even if it did – even if God called that man your 'enemy' – we're commanded, not asked, commanded by the risen Lord to love our enemies as ourselves and to do good to those who persecute us!" Charles drew a deep breath to steady himself. He was shaking. Again, he looked from man to man.

"I am ashamed of you all."

The silence was profound. One by one the men surrounding and supporting Jim Rhodes began to scatter, turning back toward town and riding away. Charles stood there until it was just him and Jim. He was hoping the man would listen. That his good sense would prevail.

That when he stuck his hand out Jim would take it and they would shake and that would be the end of it.

If wishes were horses, Pa, Laura would have told him.

Jim's watery, red-rimmed eyes flicked to the sod house and then back to him.

"This isn't over, Ingalls," he said and then he mounted his bay and was gone.

"I wish I could invent a cure-all for stupidity," Hiram sighed. "I'd make a fortune."

Charles was so infuriated with Rhodes and the other men that his muscles were tense and his head felt like the top would pop off. He wanted to ram his fist into something and since it couldn't be Jim Rhodes, he'd been thinking about a nearby tree.

The doctor's words acted as a balm and he began to laugh.

"Well, now," Hiram said, shoving his hat back on his head, "maybe I do have something to bottle."

Charles shook his head. "I'm an idiot."

"Not that I dispute that," the doctor said with a wry twist to his lips, "but what is it makes you think so?"

He ran a hand through his curly hair and shook his head. "Letting Jim Rhodes goad me like that. What do I care what he or any of them have to say about me?"

Hiram was suddenly sober. "A man's character, Charles, is worth protecting. Like you said, a man is taken at his word and it's his character that makes that word worth something." The doctor sighed. "A reputation is something that is very easily lost and very hard to regain. That's why God's against gossip."

Gossip.

Charles glanced at the blond man and then turned in the direction the mob had gone. What was it that anonymous voice had said? The Indian boy came into Oleson's looking for him?

"Harriet," he breathed between clenched teeth.

Hiram snorted. "There's a reputation never to be sullied since Harriet only considers one opinion important – her own." His friend paused and then added, his tone cautionary. "You're not thinking about going into the mercantile, are you?"

Oh, he wanted to, and he'd be damned if he didn't eventually, but now was not the right time. For one thing, Doc Baker would do everything in his power to stop him. And for another – there was the injured Indian boy in his sod house. Whoever he was, at the moment, he was his first concern.

"No," he said at last. As Hiram relaxed, he added with a wicked grin. "I'll just ask her about it on Sunday. Maybe in church."

"Charles?"

It was Caroline. He'd forgotten about her and the girls. They were probably terrified.

With a nod to the doctor, Charles crossed over to the front door of his house where his wife waited. Once there, he drew her into his arms.

She was trembling.

"Are they gone?" she asked against his shoulder.

"Yes," he replied as he planted a kiss on her hair and then cupped her cheek with his hand. "Were you listening?" he asked.

Caroline nodded.

"What about the girls?"

"I kept them busy," she answered, "but they heard some of it. Those men. They were shouting..."

He nodded. "I'll talk to them later." Charles looked at the sod house. He thought he saw a small movement near the window that faced the road. "But right now I need to go talk to our guest. Jim told me the boy came to town looking specifically for me."

She looked as surprised as he felt. "For you? Whatever for?"

The curly-haired man shrugged. "That's why I need to talk to him. To find out."

His wife's gaze flicked to the sod house and back to him. "Is it safe?"

Charles snorted. "Safe enough. He's just a boy, but from what I've seen, he could probably take me if he wanted to."

"Oh, Charles..."

"Caroline, now don't you go worryin' about me. The boy came to Walnut Grove to see me. I doubt he's thinking of doing me any harm."

He could see it in her eyes. She was still frightened, just like she'd been in Kansas. Even though their acquaintance with Soldat Du Chene, the Osage Indian Chief, had gone a long way toward easing the fear that came from confronting a culture and people so different from themselves, his wife still carried some of it with her.

"Charles, some Indians just hate white men," she cautioned.

"Just like some white men hate anything Indian. Someone's gotta break that cycle, Caroline."

Charles hid his smile. Her lips were pursed and her nose had wrinkled in that cute little way it did when she knew he was right but wanted to say he was wrong.

"I know, but... Does it have to be you?"

"It's got to be someone, and I'm the only one around." Looking over his shoulder, he added with a wink, "Unless you want to do it, Hiram?"

The doctor laughed as he repositioned his hat on his head. "Take on an angry teener? I'll leave that to the one with experience with children. Besides, I need to get to my rounds." With a nod, Hiram headed for his buggy. When he got there, he turned back and shook a finger. "No more house calls for you, Charles! You keep well away from that boy if it seems like he's going to get violent. You hear?"

Charles waved back. "I will!"

As the two of them watched Doctor Baker pull away, Caroline snuggled against him. With a sigh, she asked, "Are you going to talk to the boy right now? Breakfast is ready."

He looked at the sod house. He hadn't locked the door. Then again, the boy had come looking for him so it was unlikely he would try to run away.

"I'll eat first and then I can take some food out to him." Charles looked at the house. "Besides, I want to talk to the girls before they go back to town."

"About the boy, you mean, and the people in the town like Jim Rhodes?" Caroline asked as they began to walk.

He nodded nodded. Then he sighed.

"That, and Harriet Oleson's tongue."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura sat on the side of her bed waiting for her sister. Mary was helping Ma rede up the dishes and then she was supposed to come up and join her. Pa'd told them once they had breakfast done to go upstairs 'cause he wanted to talk to them. She didn't think they'd done anythin' wrong, but figured it had to do with what had happened outside when Mister Rhodes and all those men had come that mornin'. They'd looked pretty mean and she was sure Pa was gonna tell them to stick close to home and not take any chances and that meant no fishin' or swimmin' or even runnin' in the fields today. Laura leaned forward and balanced her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. With a sigh, she blew the wisp of reddish-brown hair off her forehead. It was already the end of May and spring was flyin' fast as a hawk on the wing. It wouldn't be too long before they were out of school, done with spendin' their days and nights with their noses in books.

Not that she didn't like learnin', but a body got tired sometimes with all those words and equations swimmin' around in their head.

Laura let out another sigh and flopped back on her bed. As she did, she heard the creak of a foot on the ladder rung. It sounded too heavy for Mary. Rolling over, Laura looked.

Sure enough, it was Pa.

"Hey, Half-pint," he said as his foot hit the floor.

"Hey, Pa!" She grinned as she sat up. "This room sure does look small when you stand up in here. You're like to hit your head."

"Well, then, I guess I'd better sit down," he laughed. And he did.

Laura glanced at the ladder. "Is Mary coming?"

Pa pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, your Ma needs help with Carrie. She's gonna talk to her." He popped his thick brown brows up and smiled. "Guess that means you're stuck with me alone."

She leaned in and carefully circled his waist with her arm, mindful of the hurt he'd taken. "I couldn't be stuck with you, Pa. I love bein' alone with you."

He hugged her back as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. Then he sat there. He didn't say anything. Just sat there.

After a minute she couldn't stand it. "What did you want to talk to me about, Pa?"

"Oh, a couple of things."

A few seconds past.

"Like?" she asked.

Her pa drew in a deep breath of air. As he let it out, he scooted toward the wall and braced his back against it. Patting the bed beside him, he drew her in and circled her with his arm. Meeting her eyes, he asked, "Half-pint, what did you hear of what went on outside this mornin'?"

"With Mister Rhodes, you mean?"

He nodded.

Ma had shooed them back in the house when they tried to follow her out the door. Mary had gone to play with Carrie. She, well, she went upstairs to the loft room to make her bed and tidy their room.

But she didn't.

When she kept her silence, her pa asked, "Did you listen at the window?"

Laura nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Did your Ma tell you not too?"

She nodded again.

Pa shifted away from her so he could look her in the eye. "Do you know why?"

"Ma said it was because we wouldn't understand what we was hearin' and it would confuse or scare us."

"And did it?"

Laura let out a little sigh. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me what you heard."

She was looking at her hands. "Well, sir, I heard all that mean talk comin from Mister Rhodes. He sure does hate that Indian boy. Those other men do too." Laura glanced at him. "It was kind of like Marshal Anders and how he hated Mister Lame Horse. But he learned better."

Her father was nodding. "Yes, and that's what Jim and the others will have to do. Learn to know the boy and then they wont fear him."

"Fear him?" she asked. "You mean that big old Mister Rhodes is afraid of that scrawny Indian boy you took out to the sod house?"

"He's afraid of what the boy represents, Laura," Pa said. Whenever he called her 'Laura' she knew Pa was real serious so she sat right up and listened close. "You know the word 'prejudice', right?"

"Sure thing, Pa. Miss Beadle says it means to pre-judge someone and that the Good Book tells us we aren't supposed to judge what's in someone's heart or soul."

He touched her hair with his hand and smiled. "That's right." Pa hesitated. He looked like he had something more to say he didn't want to.

Laura wondered if she was in trouble for listening at the window.

"What does the Good Book say about gossip?" he asked.

That wasn't what she'd expected.

She thought a moment. "Well, it says in Proverbs eighteen that the words of a talebearer are as wounds, and they go down into the innermost parts of the belly." Laura paused. "How come you're askin' about gossip, Pa?"

In truth, she thought she might know but wasn't sure.

"Did you hear anythin' or see anythin' else this morning that confused you?" he asked.

Laura frowned. "Well, I..."

"Go on."

She could see it happenin' in her head. Pa was talkin' all calm and then Mister Rhodes said that funny thing and she thought Pa was gonna take his head off. "How come you didn't get mad at Mister Rhodes until he said what he did about wonderin' if Ma knew what you'd had before her?"

It puzzled her mightily.

Her Pa looked kind of sick. He drew in a breath and let it out slow, like he was mad all over again.

"I'm sorry, Pa. I didn't –"

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "There's nothing you've done wrong, Laura," Pa said firmly. "Oh, you should of obeyed your Ma, but that has nothing to do with...this."

"Has it got to do with gossiping?"

Pa paused again, like he was lookin' for the right words. "Do you know why the Good Book says its best for a man to labor?"

"No, sir. Not really."

"When the Apostle Paul was writing to the Thessalonians, he talked to them about work. 'We were not idle when we were with you...but with toil and labor we worked night and day,' he said. Then he went on and finished, 'If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat. For we hear that some among you walk in idleness, not busy at work, but busybodies.'

She'd heard Pa use that word before. Usually when he was talkin about Nellie's mother. "You're talkin' about Mrs. Oleson, aren't you?" she asked.

Pa snorted. "How'd you know that, Half-pint?"

She shrugged. "It's usually about her when you use that word. That and 'battleaxe."

The snort turned to a chuckle as Pa shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "Shh,' your ma might hear."

She giggled. She liked sharin' secrets with Pa.

"Your ma doesn't like either of those words, but you know, the Good Book also says to tell the truth," Pa said, growing sober. "Harriet Oleson has too much money and too much time on her hands, and she spends most of it with her nose stuck in other people's business."

"Was she in your business, Pa?"

He took both her hands in his and held her gaze. "Laura, I don't have any business with that boy. I never saw him before last night, and I have no idea why he's come lookin' for me. Harriet, well..." He thought a moment. "Harriet's makin' up stories since she don't know the truth and spreadin' them. I just wanted you and your sister to know before you go into town tomorrow, that there's no truth to anythin' you might hear her or Nellie say."

"That old Nellie," Laura said, shaking her head, "she's worse than her Ma."

"I know." Pa squeezed her fingers again. "So I want you to make me a promise."

"Yes, sir?"

"Promise me you'll ignore anythin' you hear and you won't go and pop Nellie on the nose for sayin' it."

Laura scowled. "Do I gotta, Pa?"

"Gotta what?"

"Promise not to pop Nellie." She sighed. "It's awful hard to make it through a day without doin' it."

He nodded. "Yep. I need your solemn promise."

Straightening up, Laura met his gaze. She laid her hand on her heart and said, "I promise I won't pop Nellie Oleson in the nose for anything she says about you and that Indian boy."

Pa looked thoughtful. "Good," he said as he gave her a hug. "Thank you."

A minute later she was sitting on her bed watching Pa go down the ladder. He was going out to the sod house to talk to the Indian boy. Crossing to her window, Laura watched him as he left the house and disappeared around the corner. As he did, she looked toward town.

No siree, she wouldn't pop old Nellie in the nose if she started to tell lies about Pa.

She'd just shove her into a mud puddle instead.