Chapter Two
"Supper, you two," Caroline called, picking up a tin plate and spooning stew onto it. Mary walked over, carrying the last of the clean, folded laundry. "You can put that in the wagon, Mary, and then come have supper. Where's Laura?"
"Still looking around for Jack."
"Oh!" Caroline put Mary's plate down and stood, scanning the horizon for her youngest daughter. She was standing away from the wagon, in clear view in case Charles were to return. "Laura? Laura, come back here! Your Pa'll find him!"
"I have to keep watch!" Laura called back.
"No, you don't. Your father can find his way back just fine. Come and have some supper before it gets cold."
Laura trudged back, somewhat unwillingly. The girls had helped clear room for a nice, crackling fire, and with her red shawl around her shoulders Caroline was warm and comfortable. They ate their stew quietly, all waiting for Charles to return. There was an unspoken air of worry. He had been gone for hours.
The sky swallowed the sun as evening fell. It was a dark velvet night, with stars flung in the sky like white specks on a black enameled roasting pan. The moon, like a delicate silver hand, cupped the night's sky in its palm.
"Ma, is Pa all right?" Mary rubbed her eyes, tired from the excitement of the day. "He's been gone a long time."
Caroline nodded. "I'm sure he's just fine. Now, we should get on with your prayers. Pa wouldn't want you staying up late on account of him."
"But I can't sleep unless I know Jack's all right," Laura insisted. "I just can't!"
"Well, you'll have to try." Caroline watched Laura struggle to not argue. "I promise I'll wake you when he comes back."
"Just five more minutes?"
Caroline looked at the dark sky, the glowing embers, and nodded. They all sat quietly then, the occasional hoot of an owl sounding over the pop of the wood. A rustle in the trees drew their attention, and brought Laura to her feet, hurrying over to her father. Caroline sighed in relief, the thought having crossed her mind several times that without light Charles may not have been able to find them again.
"Didn't you find Jack, Pa?"
"No," he said shortly, walking past her.
Caroline had anticipated this. "Do you think he drowned, Charles?"
Charles sat by the fire, took Laura's cup, poured coffee into it, and took a long sip. "Looks like it," he said, not looking at any of them.
"We can look again tomorrow," Laura said. Her little hands were clenched into fists, either from cold or holding back tears.
He looked at her. "I followed the river for miles. He's gone." His voice cut through the night like a scythe. "Don't know how we're gonna manage without a good watch dog."
Laura stood still, and didn't move even when he stood to go see to the ponies. Mary lay her head on Caroline's shoulder.
That night no more words were spoken besides what was necessary. Caroline helped the girls into the wagon, made them comfortable, and came back to the fire, which was dying out. Charles was still drinking coffee, but had taken his boots, damp from mud, off to dry. She sat beside him on the log, drawing her legs close to her. Charles put a hand on her knee, perhaps without realizing it.
"Charles, you must be worn through. Come to bed."
"I meant what I said. We need a good watchdog. This part of the river is the thinnest crossing. We don't know what could be in the brush."
She sighed. "You can't stay up all night."
"No," he conceded, "but I can sit a while longer. You go on ahead. I'll be there soon."
She understood that this was grief in a man, the desire to be alone, unwitnessed. They'd had Jack since he was a puppy. He followed Charles like a footprint. She patted his hand and he removed it from her knee as she stood. The wagon wasn't far, and sleep drew her like a fish on the line.
They got an early start the next day, and by mid-morning were traveling over the hilly, tree-dotted beginnings of the prairies. Although the weather was warm and bright, Caroline stayed in the wagon as Charles had suggested, which was almost silent, because Laura had chosen to walk beside it rather than remain inside.
Caroline opened her eyes from a nap when golden fingers of sunlight reached through and into the wagon, warming her face. Scooting toward the front, she looked out at Laura, who was walking, her head bowed, her bonnet tossed back and only held on by the ties under her chin.
"Laura, come inside, dear. It's too hot to walk in the sun."
"I'm not hot."
"Then put your bonnet on," Caroline said. "The sun and the wind will make your skin all leathery."
"Leave her be, Caroline," Charles said quietly. "She's hurtin'."
She sighed.
"She'll come in when she's ready. I won't let her burn," he promised. "Get some rest."
Caroline sunk back into the wagon to take his advice. Her head felt better, but the rocking of the wagon was, if anything, worse laying down. She hadn't folded up their cot of blankets, and had her shoes off for extra comfort, but her breakfast kept roiling in her stomach. By now, almost a month into their journey, she thought she knew why, but she couldn't be sure, and for all their sakes' she hoped it wasn't true.
When they broke for camp, they were truly on the prairie, and Charles estimated they would cross into Kansas any day now. This fact didn't seem to noticeably cheer any of them. They were all tired, some grief-stricken, some filled with worry for the future.
Caroline put Mary to bed and walked past Laura, who was dressed in her nightclothes and still not speaking to any of them. The little girl sat on a log beside the wagon, looking into the darkness for an answer to a question which had already been answered. By the fire, Charles was drinking what remained of the coffee. Caroline sat beside him.
"The children asleep?"
"Mary is," Caroline said. "Laura said she wanted to stay up and pray for Jack. I couldn't argue with that."
Charles made a noise of assent. She knew he was hurting, too.
"How are you feelin'? Better?"
"Mm. Much better."
"You hardly touched your supper. We have more than enough for the journey. You need to keep up your strength."
She nodded. "I know. It's the rocking of the wagon. Sometimes it makes me feel sick."
"That hasn't happened before," he remarked.
"Well, I haven't traveled in a wagon for longer than a week with you."
"Pa?" Laura's voice broke the silence. She appeared in her nightgown and cap, looking puzzled. "I heard something."
"It's all right," he said, "it's just the wind through the grass."
She shook her head. "It wasn't the wind."
She turned and pointed, and they squinted in the dark. Some rustling could be heard. Caroline thought of the coyotes Charles had warned her would lurk in the prairies. Another good reason to have a watchdog. More rustlings…
"It's Jack!" Laura exclaimed, and sure enough the faithful dog, all lanky hair and wet nose, appeared at the edge of where the firelight reached. He whined, and Laura ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Charles and Caroline stood, shocked.
Laura's voice carried over, soft and sweet. "You didn't drown, you didn't drown."
When Jack caught sight of Charles he pulled away from Laura and dashed to his master. Caroline watched as Charles' expression immediately lightened. He embraced the dog, ruffling his fur familiarly. Laura went to Caroline, seeking comfort after miles of walking, believing her dog was dead.
Caroline found her own voice was laced with emotion. "We've come so far. How did he find us?"
"Instinct," Charles said. "Love." Jack licked his face sloppily. "We thank you, Lord, for bringing our dear and good friend back to us."
Caroline covered her trembling mouth, squeezing Laura, trying to remain strong. Laura sniffled, but reached out to stroke Jack again. Caroline hadn't realized how much a part of their family the dog had become until they'd lost him. Over the course of the day she'd turned over all the times she'd scolded him for bringing dirty paws over her clean floor, or sighed when he shook out his wet coat all over her dry laundry. It was all forgiven when he licked her cheek, too. Laura laughed.
The weather turned. The breezes were warmer and the days filled with sun by the time they crossed into Kansas a week later. Caroline, sitting with Charles, now saw the prairie like a world before her like the open palm of an outstretched hand. Morale was heightened, close to what it had been when they'd left Pepin, but Caroline had never felt worse.
Each morning she woke before the others, as usual, to see to breakfast. After lighting the fire from the night before, she walked downwind and far enough from the camp that she knew no one could hear her, and vomited into the waving grasses two or three times before returning to camp. With a clammy brow she then prepared coffee, the smell of which made her stomach turn again, along with the rest of the breakfast while Charles helped the girls.
She put up a good front of eating, but more often than not found herself drinking water and managing small bites. Concealing this wasn't difficult; she used breakfast time to brush and braid the girls' hair, which was often tangled, whipped in all directions from the prairie wind. She remembered how sick she'd been in the early days of carrying Mary, then hardly at all with Laura. Every child was a blessing from God, she knew this. But the idea of bringing one into a world in which she didn't yet have a home other than the wagon was terrifying. The one thing that frightened her more was telling Charles, but she had to, and soon.
On a particularly pleasant spring night after putting the girls to bed -an easier task now it was warmer- she returned to the fire, where Charles was playing his fiddle. It was a melody he'd played at home in Pepin, also by the fire, to help the girls fall asleep. It reminded Caroline of home, of the life they'd built in Wisconsin. With each stroke of the bow her heart clenched a little.
Noticing her coming toward him, Charles finished the song and put the fiddle back in its case. He looked up at her and smiled when she sat beside him. The fire was hot on her cheek when she turned to him.
"How much longer, Charles?"
He quirked his brow. "'Till we settle? I don't know."
"We crossed into Kansas four days ago," she reminded him. "What are you looking for?"
"I'll know it when I see it," he promised.
"But the girls are getting restless. We all are, and some of the joy seems to have gone out of all of us."
"It'll pass, Caroline," he said. "How much supplies do we have?"
"Enough for two months," she said. "Maybe three."
He thought for a moment, sighed. "We had no future where we were. It was a hand-to-mouth existence at best. I want more than that for you and the children."
Caroline looked at him. "Yes, but if we continue on for too much longer I'll have to start rationing the food, Charles. Isn't that the same?"
"A hundred and sixty acres free and clear from the government," he said, "the chance to plant and harvest my own crops. To be owing to no man. I want that."
And in that moment, Caroline lost her nerve. She saw the hope in his eyes that glinted like stars when the firelight flickered over them. There was a chance she wasn't pregnant. Another month and she'd be sure. There was still time.
"I know," she said. "I want that, too. For us, for the girls."
He smiled at her softly. "I'll know it when I see it. When I do, you'll be the first to know."
She grinned, and leaned in to kiss him. "You've got all of Kansas in front of you. Keep a good eye out."
A week later Caroline woke a bit later than usual -with the dawn rather than before it. After dressing she made her traditional trip a hundred paces from the wagon, vomited once or twice, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and walked back to start the day.
By the time she had warmed some ham over the fire and made the coffee, the girls were awake, dressed, and frolicking around in the grass with Jack, tossing a ball of yarn back and forth.
"Yuck!" she heard Laura exclaim.
Mary laughed. "Is it a bug?"
"Girls! Breakfast is ready!" Caroline called.
She plated the meal as they ran over.
"Pa? I got something on my shoe back there," Laura said before she sat beside him. "Can I use some of the water to wash it off?"
"Just wipe it in the grass, Half-Pint, that should take care of it. Did you step where the horses had been?"
"No," she said, unlacing her boot. "It looks like somebody was sick in the grass." She gasped. "Maybe it was an Indian who came by while we were sleeping!"
"Jack would have barked at an Indian," Mary said.
"Caroline-" Charles started to ask, but she cleared her throat before he could finish.
"Laura, please clean your shoe and come eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
"Yes, ma'am."
"We saw a lot of little birds," Mary said, picking up her plate.
"You'll see a lot more of 'em," Charles said. "They're called dick-sissles."
"Dickie birds?"
Laura poured a generous serving of molasses on her tin plate. "It's dumb to talk baby talk. They're dick-sissles."
"I can call them dickie birds if I want to," Mary countered.
"The bible says 'thou shalt not argue before breakfast'."
Caroline smirked. "That's not in the bible, Charles."
"Well, it ought to be," he said, and took a sip of coffee.
Caroline looked away from him in time to see Laura licking molasses off her index finger. "There's no need to forget your manners just because we're hundreds of miles from civilized folk."
It was Charles' turn to smirk. "I don't think the folks in Independence wouldn't take too kindly to you calling them uncivilized."
"Independence?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Are we near there?"
"Best I can figure, about forty or fifty miles away."
She smiled widely. "Oh, I can hardly wait to get there!"
"We're not goin' there."
"Why not, Pa? I want to see Independence!" Laura said.
"Yes, the girls should see it, Charles. It would be so good to see a town and people again!" Caroline tried, trying not to sound too desperate.
"Caroline, we didn't come all this way to see a town." His words, though not cruel, felt harsh. He put down his plate and walked away calmly.
"What's the matter with Pa?"
Caroline sighed. "He's just tired, like the rest of us." She kept her tone light. "I'll just go and speak to him for a minute. You girls finish your breakfast, and you have my permission to play when you're finished."
She stood and followed her husband, trudging through the grasses, damp and heavy with morning dew. Before she could reach him, though, he turned, his face lit with joy, and called her over. She picked up her damp skirts and hurried.
"What is it?"
"Look at it. Just look at it."
She looked west, following his gaze, and saw more of the prairie. It was rendered beautiful simply by the look it brought to his face -a horizon of gently waving green grasses against a sky as clear as sapphire.
"Green and rich," he breathed. "There'll be water in those foothills, and trees." He looked at her. "We're home, Caroline. We're home."
She was so happy she burst into tears.
"What is it?" He touched her arms. "What's wrong?"
She wiped at her eyes. "I'm so glad you found what you were looking for. So glad, Charles."
He laughed, pulled her in for a tight embrace and smoothed a hand over her hair.
"But we have to go to Independence," she said. "Soon."
He laughed again. "Of course we'll go. I'll need to pick up more supplies. Maybe some ready-lumber, then I can make beds for us and the girls."
She smiled. "I'd be content with four walls to start, Charles. But I need some things, too."
"Whatever you say," he said, kissing her quickly. "Girls! Come see your new homestead!"