SIX

Caroline Ingalls was standing outside of the door to Isaiah and Grace's house looking east toward Sleepy Eye. It was early afternoon, Carrie was taking a nap, and the children were not yet back from school. She'd asked Grace if she needed help with the chores but her friend, doing as she would have done, had told her she was a guest and she wouldn't hear of such a thing, and so she was left alone with nothing to do but worry about Charles. It had been three days and there had been no word from either him or Isaiah. Charles was forty miles away and it might as well have been halfway around the world. If she had been a man, she could have taken off after him, but as a woman it was her lot to wait, and wait, and wait until the time passing and the rising and setting of the sun nearly drove her mad.

Caroline smiled and looked up toward Heaven. She heard the Comforter speak. 'Wait for the Lord, Caroline, be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.'

Closing her eyes, she let that truth sink in. It was something she told her girls constantly. She was a little embarrassed that she had to be reminded of a fact that she claimed to live her life by. There were times, and she knew this but did not like to admit it to herself, that she relied too much on Charles' presence to strengthen her and make her life complete. The Lord had given him to her, but He could just as easily take him away. Her hope, her strength had to come from God and these were the times that reminded her of that.

There were a good many widows in Walnut Grove.

"There you go again," she said aloud, but talking to herself. "Really, Caroline."

"Mrs. Ingalls?"

Caroline jumped. Her eyes flew open and she turned to find the blacksmith, Hans Dorfler, standing close by. He was the most recent man from the town to come out and keep watch. Since she saw no horse, he must have walked. With his brawny square frame and powerful arms, he presented a picture of vigor and strength that would make anyone think twice about confronting him.

"Good afternoon, Mister Dorfler. How are you?" she asked.

"Doing well, Mrs. Ingalls." He glanced around. "Where's that little Laura?"

Laura had worked for Hans in order to get her horse, Bunny, shoed. He had been very kind to her. "Oh, she's not back from school yet."

"I see." He paused, and his blue eyes narrowed. "Is someone walking the children here?"

There it was. The notion that she and the children were in constant danger. She did her best to set it aside, but every time they went to do anything ordinary, it arose and turned it around making it extraordinary.

She nodded. "The Reverend Alden said he wanted to pay a visit and he would be happy to travel with them today."

Hans nodded. "Very wise."

"Have you..." She paused. "Have any of the men seen anything unusual while they have been keeping watch?"

He shook his head. "No."

Caroline drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I feel badly that you and the others have to miss work, and be away from your families in order to watch over us when there may be no need."

The older man looked at her. His tone was serious. "Need or not, it's what neighbors do."

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

Hans attention strayed from her. "Here they come," he said, a smile breaking on his deeply tanned face.

She didn't have to look. She could hear the chatter and knew that the girls and Carl were coming home.

Laura arrived first, breathless from running ahead. "Mister Dorfler, it's good to see you!"

The blacksmith stepped forward and laid a hand on her head. "My horse is missing you. Any time you are ready to come clean out more stalls, Laura, you just let me know."

Caroline watched her daughter think that over. "How do you know he's missing me?" she asked.

"Why, he told me so!" Hans replied with a grin.

Laura's brow furrowed. "Your horse talks?"

"Certainly," the blacksmith said. "Oh, he doesn't use words but he snorts and whinnies and strikes his hooves on the ground and lets me know. The next time you come to town, you look me up and we'll go talk to him together and you can see."

Mary had come up with Alicia and Carl. The Reverend Alden was following a few yards behind. "Who are you going to go see?" she asked.

"Mister Dorfler's horse! He's been talking to him."

Her eldest shot her a look and then turned back to her sister. "Mister Dorfler's been talking to his horse?"

"No, silly," Laura countered. "His horse has been talking to him."

"Horses can't talk," Mary scoffed.

Caroline had had enough. "If you two have nothing more important to squabble about, then I would say it was best for you to stop squabbling and find something constructive to do. I'm sure Grace can use some help preparing for supper."

In chorus both girls said, "Yes, Ma'am," and scooted off to see what they could do. As they did, the Reverend Alden arrived. He and Hans exchanged a few words and then the blacksmith moved off to make his rounds.

"Good afternoon, Caroline. How are you today?"

"Fine."

He looked at her in that way he had – like he saw right through her. "You're not very good at telling falsehoods." He paused. "I take it there's no word from Charles?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. "No."

"When did you expect him back?"

"Oh, not yet. Tonight at the earliest. Maybe tomorrow."

The reverend held her gaze. "So he's not late?"

"No." She frowned. "It's just...a feeling I have that something's wrong."

"Does this have to do with the words Charles and I exchanged after church?"

She dropped her head. "Those men..." she began. "They are so evil. I just know if Charles runs into them they will try to hurt him."

"Is that truly it?" he asked quietly. "Or are you afraid Charles will seek them out?"

That brought an unwanted smile. Again, she nodded. "Maybe a little of that too."

"Charles is a very proud man, Caroline, and you know the Bible warns that pride goeth before destruction. Now, I am not saying Charles is headed for destruction, but you know the Lord will let us take our knocks in order to hone us into the image of His son."

She sighed. That's what she was afraid of.

"Ma?"

Caroline turned toward the house. Mary was standing in the open door with a worried expression on her young face.

"Yes, Mary?"

Her daughter looked from her to the minister and back. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't miss the Reverend Alden's look.

Crossing to her child, Caroline laid a hand alongside her face. "No, Mary, nothing is wrong. We were just chatting."

The blonde girl seemed to consider whether or not she was telling the truth, and then accepted what she said. "Mrs. Edwards said to ask the reverend if he'd like to stay for supper."

The older man smiled. "Tell Grace 'thank you'. I would love to."

Caroline turned toward him. "I should go in and help Grace finish up."

"You do that," he said. "How long will it be, Mary?"

"Mrs. Edwards said about twenty minutes."

"I think I'll go look Hans up. I haven't seen him since last Sunday."

"Oh!" Mary looked embarrassed. "I was supposed to ask him too. Do you – "

"I'll ask him, Mary, and I'm sure we'll both be in."

Caroline came up next to her daughter and took her hand. Mary looked up at her, hesitated, and then asked, "Is Pa all right?"

She patted her fingers. "I'm sure he is, Mary. You know your Pa. He can take care of himself."

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Charles opened his eyes. The sun was just rising outside the window and his beautiful wife was asleep beside him. He laid for some time, listening to Caroline's breathing and to the sound of his house at rest. He heard Jack mutter in his sleep, chasing some rabbit in a dream no doubt, and could hear Carrie chattering to herself as she sometimes did when she first awoke and lay in her bed half-asleep. There was no sound from the loft, but he knew Mary and Laura were there, safe and secure, protected by God and by his own God-given strength.

Life was good.

Gently lifting the covers, the brown-haired man slipped his bare legs over the edge of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the floor. He was in his night shirt, so he reached for his shirt, pants and boots and went with them into the common room of the house in order to dress. Once that was accomplished he grabbed a piece of dry bread from the table and, munching on it, headed for the door. It was a beautiful autumn day outside, crisp but not too cold with just a hint of rain in the air. He headed for the barn, grateful and more than ready for the day to begin.

He'd been at it, tossing hay for the animals and sweeping out the stalls, for fifteen minutes or so when a noise made him turn back toward the house. It was a strange, mournful cry like a little lost lamb makes, bleating for the mother it can't find. Dropping the broom he dashed out of the barn and ran full-tilt toward the house and burst through the door to find his three girls huddled in a terrified pile on the floor. Carries was wailing. Mary looked stunned. It was Laura who looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and spoke the words that thrust a knife through his heart.

"He took Ma! Pa! George Galender took her! She's gone!"

Charles' eyes flew open and he sat up, gasping. Immediately pain shot through his middle section, especially in the back, threatening to drag him back down. He sat there, panting, reconciling the dream he had just awakened from with his own fears. Was his subconscious working out what he dreaded most?

Or, was this a warning?

Closing his eyes again, he focused on his own pain. He remembered someone – a doctor – mentioning a possible injury to his kidneys. The pain was concentrated in his back, low, somewhere between his ribs and his hips. There were other pains too, but they were nothing he hadn't felt before. His injured ribs, which were not fully recovered from the Galender's first attack, were howling in protest.

As he sat there, listening to his body, he heard voices in the outer room. He realized now he was in Burt Caldwell's jail. The sheriff had brought him there to protect him, no doubt, and maybe to make him stay put. He recognized the lawman's voice, but there were two others. A man and...a boy?

Steeling himself, Charles rose and limped over to the cell door. It was open, as was the door between the four cells and the office. Haltingly, he walked the distance between them and leaned on the wall beside the door and listened.

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Burt Caldwell took the chair that normally sat before his desk and turned it around, and then indicated to the frightened young man standing before him that he should sit down. He glanced at Isaiah Edwards, who was staring the boy down like he was sighting along a rifle, and inclined his head toward another chair indicating that he should remove himself a bit and let him do the talking. Grudgingly, the mountain man complied.

"You look tired, Bubba. Can I get you something to eat or drink?" the sheriff asked.

The boy's face twitched. "Maybe some water."

He crossed to his desk, poured a cup, and then came back. After handing it to the boy, he examined him. Bubba was a long lean drink of water with hair like honey and dark narrow eyes. He had the hangdog look of a beaten whelp. There were obvious scars on his face from where he'd been hit with a fist and he would lay money there were dozens more that matched them under the boy's homespun clothes. It went along with his theory that George Galender was the real menace and not his pounded and punched brothers.

Turning another chair around, he faced the boy. "Well, Bubba..."

His tone was, by practice, insolent. "Well, what?"

Burt leaned back. "Son, there has to be a reason you're here."

He was looking at his hands. "I shouldn't be."

"Why not?"

The boy's brown eyes flicked to his face. He mumbled something.

Caldwell frowned. "What was that?"

"I said, George'll kill me when he finds out."

The lawman glanced at Isaiah. He was sitting on his hands to remain still. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" Caldwell's voice was gentle. "This the first time you've ever been alone, boy, without him watching?"

"I been alone before," he protested.

"Really alone?"

Bubba glanced at Edwards and then back. "Is Sam alive?"

Caldwell nodded. "The Doc's seen to him. You worried about Sam?"

He could tell by the boy's expression that he was. "You like Sam, don't you? But you don't like George."

The boy burst out of his seat. "I hate him! He ain't made our lives nothin' but hell and now he's bound and determined to do it again!"

The sheriff waited a moment. "What is George bound and determined to do, Bubba? You tell me."

He looked at Edwards again and this time didn't look away. "George don't like to lose."

The mountain man glanced at him. When he nodded, he said, "You mean when we drove you fellers out of town?"

"He ain't forgot it, I can tell you that. 'Specially not Mister Ingalls." Bubba shook his head. "George wants to make him pay and pay big for what he done to him."

"What about you, Bubba?" Caldwell pressed. "Do you want to make Mister Ingalls pay? Is that why you set him up and helped your brother to nearly kill him?"

"I didn't help! George made me lay down there on the ground. He said he'd kill me if I didn't!" Bubba shook his head. "You ain't never felt his fists, or been beat near to death yourself with a stick. I knew he'd do it!" The boy looked terrified. "I ran for all I was worth when I saw them start to hurt Mister Ingalls. I was runnin' here, to find you, but..." His head went down again and his voice fell to a whisper, "...I was afraid."

"So why are you here now?"

The boy looked at him. "Is Mister Ingalls still livin'?"

Burt nodded.

A shudder ran the length of the boy. "You gotta tell him somethin'. Somethin' from me. George ain't gonna let it rest. He hired that man to burn down their house and now he knows it ain't gonna happen, he's gone there himself to do it – or somethin' worse!"

The sheriff watched Isaiah Edwards stiffen. He shook his head slightly. Then he nodded toward the door that led into the cell block. The mountain man got it instantly – if Ingalls had awakened and was listening...

As Edwards moved he turned back to the boy. "Why do you care?"

He watched a war play across the boy's features. A child bred by violence to violence. It seemed – God willing – that perhaps he was beginning to question whether that was right or wrong. His jaw clenched and his fingers formed fists. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

"I hated 'em too at first. Self-righteous, George called 'em. Haughty, lording their faith and their family over us with their high and mighty ways. It was easy believin' what he said. But, well, I guess I knew all along that George was green-eyed. Mister Ingalls is everythin' he ain't." He drew a shuddering breath. "I didn't know my pa, or at least I don't remember him. I'd... I'd hope he was more like Mister Ingalls than George."

Burt Caldwell stood up. As he did Isaiah Edwards appeared in the doorway. The mountain man shook his head, indicating Ingalls was still asleep and had not heard.

Thank God!

The sheriff placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Bubba, I'm not arresting you, but I think you should join Sam in the cell – for your own protection."

"George ain't around."

"You don't know that for certain, and even if you did, he could return any time. George has committed several crimes. He's going to go to prison no matter what.' He squeezed the boy's flesh. "You'll be free."

The light of that word shone in the boy's eyes, precious and up to now thought unattainable. "Free?"

Burt Caldwell smiled.

This was one of those days that made it all worthwhile.

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Supper was over and the younger children were bedded down. Grace had gone to bed complaining of a headache. Caroline was working on Charles' shirt again and she looked over it at her oldest girls who were sitting beside her doing their own mending. She'd let them stay up a little later than usual for a school night as she sensed their need to be near her. Tonight, at least, Carrie had dropped into bed and drifted off without any complaints or cries. It tore at her heart to hear her little voice crying for her Pa. The good Lord willing Charles would be home tomorrow with news that would set them free from the need for constant vigilance. It was wearing on a body. It had been hard on her girls and it was certainly hard on her.

"Ma, I can't figure this out," Mary said, rising and coming to her side. Her eldest was setting in a sleeve – not the easiest thing to do. It took practice, a little bit of time, and a lot of patience.

"Here, let me look at it."

As Mary watched her inspect the seams, Laura rose to her feet and walked to the window. She leaned her elbows on the sill and sighed.

Caroline hid her smile. "What's the matter, Laura?"

"I was just thinkin' it's been a powerful long time since anyone called me 'Half-pint'."

"Would you like me to?" she asked as she took a seam ripper and pulled out a part of Mary's work – to her elder daughter's sigh.

"Thanks, Ma. But it ain't the same."

"'Isn't', Laura."

Her girl glanced back at her. "Yes, Ma'am." She paused and then asked the question everyone wanted an answer to. "When's Pa gonna get back?"

Caroline had showed Mary what to do and was handing the sewing back. "He said tomorrow at the earliest. So we have to be patient. You know it takes nearly two days to Sleepy Eye and another two back."

Laura was looking out the window again "You know, Ma, I remember when I was a little girl, I used to think when Pa went away that he'd never come back."

"Really?" She'd never said anything.

Laura looked sheepish. "You know how it is. When you're little, you think if you say somethin' it's bound to come true. I'd sit and look out my window and wait and wait and then suddenly, there Pa would be." She smiled. "It was like Christmas and a birthday all rolled into one." Then she sobered. "You'd think, since he came back that time, that the next time I wouldn't think the same thing – but I did." Laura paused. "Ma, is Pa gonna come back?"

Caroline put her sewing down and opened her arms. "Laura, come here."

It only took a second. Her child ran to her and fell into her arms.

She was sniffing.

Petting her hair, Caroline said, "I'm sorry, Laura."

She looked up at her. "Sorry?"

"Tell the truth. I've made you frightened by the way I've behaved. Haven't I?"

Laura wrinkled her nose. She glanced at Mary. "Well, maybe a little," she admitted.

The Reverend Alden was right. Little eyes were always watching.

She kissed Laura on the forehead and then reached out for Mary's hand. As her eldest came alongside her, she said, "Grownups get scared too. Your Pa is a strong man and able to take care of himself, I know that and so do you. I've seen him face down a bear and he's outrun a pack of wolves."

Laura's little face was turned up toward her. "But the Galenders aren't bears or wolves."

"No. They're not. They are evil men and I will be honest with you, they frighten me." She paused and then brightened her tone. "But you know what?"

"What?" Mary asked.

"There's someone stronger than them who is able to look out for your Pa when he can't."

Her eldest nodded. "God."

"Yes, Mary. God." She looked down at her younger daughter. "Laura, do you remember what Joshua 1:9 says?"

Laura chewed her lip. "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid."

Caroline finished it for her, reminding herself as much as them of the Lord's promises. "Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

"So the Lord's with Pa?" Laura asked.

She smiled as she touched her child's hair. "Always." Caroline drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Now, you two, time for bed."

"Ah, Ma," Mary whined, "can't I finish my sewing?"

"You have school tomorrow. It's already way past your bed time. Come here and give me a kiss."

Mary obeyed and then headed for the room they shared with Alicia.

"Laura."

"Yes, Ma'am." Laura came over to her and kissed her and then gripped her in a tight embrace. "I love you, Ma. God watches over you too, right?"

Caroline placed a hand on her cheek. "Of course. Now off to bed with you, Half-pint!"

Laura laughed. "I love you, Ma."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep!"

Fifteen minutes later the house was quiet. Caroline glanced at the clock. It was ten. Rising, she threw on her shawl and opened the front door and stepped outside. The moon was high. Its argent light turned the grass silver and cast deep shadows in the form of the barn and outbuildings. She frowned, noting an especially deep pool by the privy. Taking another step toward it, she looked for Nels Oleson. He had come out to relieve Hans Dorfler and had said, the last time she had seen him, that he was going to make one last round before settling in for the night. She still felt guilty that the men of the town had to play nursemaid to her. After all, she was a grown woman. But then, it made her feel better to know that the girls were watched over and would be safe – just in case anything untoward happened. Nels had told her to stay inside until he returned, but nature was calling and there was really little else she could do but disobey.

Looking left and right, Caroline made certain the way was clear and then started across the yard.

It was a beautiful night. Stars ringed the moon and the sky behind them was a deep cobalt blue. The air had a touch of a chill, but only enough to make a warm cup of tea sound good. Crossing to the privy, she opened the door and stepped inside, latching it quickly after her. A few minutes later, her business done, she stepped out, closed the door, and turned back toward the house.

It was then someone grabbed her from behind. A large, rough hand was clasped over her mouth and another went around her waist, pulling her close to a man's sweaty, hot form.

She didn't have time to scream.

"Evenin', Mrs. Ingalls," the man said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Why don't you and me take a little walk?"

It was George Galender.

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Isaiah adjusted his belt and sighed. Charles had been out like the proverbial light when he checked on him, and so he and the sheriff had taken the opportunity to go across the street to get some food and, of course, a beer or two to whet his wiltin' whistle. Bubba Galender was in the cell next to Charles' with his brother. He weren't quite sure what to make of the two younger Galenders. He'd thought they was pure immoral and godless bullies what had not a speck of decency in them. It seemed at least, about that youngest one, he'd been wrong. The boy'd come to warn Charles about his older brother and what he intended. It were God's luck Charles hadn't been awake. If he'd a heard what that boy had to say, he'd have been off like a shot, bruised kidneys or not. As it was, it was gonna be mighty hard to keep him down for that other day the Doc insisted on. Once he saw the boy, his friend was sure to ask questions. He and the sheriff had discussed it, but they'd decided – short of lockin' him in like the lawman had suggested earlier – there weren't no way to stop him. And he wasn't sure they should. A man had to do what he had to do. Charles family was in danger. It weren't right to stop him.

Isaiah laid back the last of his beer.

He just hoped it didn't kill him.

The sheriff had gone home. It'd been two days since he'd slept anywhere other than the office chair. He'd told the lawman that he'd keep track at the jail and come and wake him first thing in the mornin'. With a smile at the pretty girl what had brought him his drinks, the mountain man rose to his feet and headed for the door. As he stepped out the cool crisp air took the edge off of the beer workin' on him and he came awake. He looked up at the moon and started whistlin' as he walked, enjoyin' his favorite tune of 'Old Dan Tucker' as he crossed the street and opened the door to the jail. He hung his hat by the door and then stepped into the cell block. Charles looked to be curled up on his side. Before going to check on him, he glanced in the Galenders' cell. Both Bubba and Sam were asleep.

Sam was snorin' to beat the band.

Crossin' over to Charles bed he took hold of the chair and sat down by his friend. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. It was, oh, maybe two minutes later that he realized somethin' was wrong. While he could hear the Galenders' snorin' and breathin', he couldn't hear Charles at all. Suddenly frightened, he reached out and took his friend by the shoulder and shook him –

And watched as the blanket fell away, revealing the pillows plumped inside it into the form of a sleepin' man.

Isaiah shot to his feet. He ran to the door and then to the livery stable and banged on the door. It took a minute, but a light appeared and finally, the door opened.

"Can't a man sleep?" the livery owner protested. "You're the second one tonight to come bangin' on my door. What's the all-fired hurry!"

Isaiah's eyes searched the interior for Charles' horse. They were still searchin' when the man's words penetrated the haze left by four beers.

"Second man?"

"You look a sight better than the first. He was shakin' like a leaf and pale as day old paste. I told him he was gonna kill himself and that he should go back home and crawl into his bed. He wouldn't listen. Pushed his way in here and took his horse and took off." The man shook his head. "They'll probably find him layin' on the road dead somewhere tomorrow."

"Did he give you a name?"

The man pursed his lips. "Ingalls, I think. Mean anything to you?"

Yes. Yes, it did.

Charles had been listening and he'd heard everythin' Bubba Galender had said.

He'd gone after George.