A/N: This chapter has a strong T rating.

Chapter Three

Together they decided where to build their new home. Laura pointed out a perfect spot, where a babbling creek ran low to the south, but the house would still be elevated enough to protect it from flooding were the creek to overflow. Charles mapped it out, drawing lines into the soft earth to represent walls, doors, and windows; a small rectangle further off for an outhouse. Another collection of lines represented the stables, but they would build the house first.

They began by digging into the fertile soil, carving out the floor with shovels and packing the exposed ground tightly by stamping on it with their feet. Caroline swept it and rolled a red-hot log across it to burn any beginnings of grasses. When she was satisfied, and when Charles had laid a foundation made of four long, big logs, locked together with notches he made with his pickaxe, they were allowed to sleep there some nights in canvas sleeping bags.

It was warm, now, stepping into mid-April. The sun, with few trees to hide behind, beat down on their backs as they worked, and pinked their cheeks. Caroline spent a good part of her time making sure the girls' bonnets were tied.

"I have to go out again tomorrow," Charles said one evening as they sat together eating warm stew after another day of hard work. "We need more logs in to finish the walls."

"Can I come, Pa?"

"Sorry, Half-Pint. You need to stay here with your mother and sister," he said. "There's a lot to do."

"Like keep a watch out? If you take Jack with you," she clarified.

He chuckled. "That, and helping your Ma with the chores."

"Yes, sir." She went back to eating her stew.

Mary looked up from her dinner. "When will the cabin be finished, Pa?"

"As fast as we can build it," he said. "Shouldn't be too long, now. And we can use the wagon cover as a roof while I build up the stables."

Caroline gave him a look. "Charles…"

He smirked. "Though maybe it would be better if I put on a roof before I start the stables."

"Thank you."

In the morning Charles set off early in search of wood, promising to return before nightfall, or sooner. Caroline watched him go, shading her eyes.

"Laura, Mary, do you think you could do the washing up while I put more notches in these logs?"

"Yes, Ma," Laura said.

"I thought Pa said he was going to do that," Mary said.

Caroline shrugged. "I can do it as well as your father. And it'll be one less thing for him to do when he gets back with the new logs. Now, do you need help carrying water from the creek?"

Laura shook her head. "We're strong enough!"

Caroline laughed. "All right, then. Let's get to work."

The sooner they had four walls around them and a roof over their head, the better, Caroline thought, wieldeding Charles' pickaxe, carving wide notches in the wood the way he did. She was now sure she was pregnant. The outcome of telling Charles was not good, especially now, when he needed help building their home.

He returned at dusk with a wagon full of logs, and they ate supper together.

"Did you see any Indians today, Pa?"

"No, Half-Pint," he said. "Not around here, anyway. I haven't seen any Indian settlements in these parts."

Laura sighed. "I just want to see one Indian, that's all."

"I don't," Mary said. "I'm afraid of them."

"How can you be afraid of something you've never seen?" Laura asked.

"I just know."

"Girls, that's enough. I'm sure there's a lot of fascinating things around here to discover," Caroline said.

"Listen to your Ma," Charles said. "One of these days we'll go out exploring, see some of those prairie dogs and gophers up close."

Laura and Mary were visibly excited, and talked of nothing but the sights they hoped to see on the prairie while Caroline readied them for bed. The four feet high walls around them at night were far more reassuring than the wagon had been. Caroline had never liked leaving her daughters sleeping alone, even if she and Charles were only a few yards away. Now, though, it felt safer with sturdy walls around them.

She undressed quietly and into one of her warmer-weather nightgowns, brushed out her hair, pulled her dressing gown around her, and went to join Charles at the fire in what had become a small tradition for them over the last two months. Outside the beginnings of the cabin, she dipped a rag into their wash basin. Her skin felt both sticky and dry, as though dirt had settled everywhere, and she wiped the cloth over her face and neck in an attempt to feel clean. Tomorrow she would insist on baths all around.

"Now, you really have no business being that beautiful when it's dark out," Charles joked when she sat beside him.

"Really, Charles. You don't have to sweep me off my feet -I'm already here," she joked back.

He brushed some stray strands of hair off her face and tucked them behind her ear. The gesture, small and familiar, was somehow more intimate than laying beside him in the wagon. The girls were asleep, tucked inside their new home. They were alone for the first time in what felt like a year.

"I love you, you know."

Her breath caught, and she swallowed. They kissed, this time a kiss with intent behind it, she knew by the way his hand tightened on her waist, the thumb stroking her side. Beside them, the fire danced merrily, fed by the breeze.

She exhaled, tilting her head back as he kissed her neck, brushing her hair aside. Her breasts felt heavy and sore, but the rest of her body felt like a plant being watered after days of unforgiving sun; Caroline relaxed into his touch, brought his head up to kiss his mouth again.

"Caroline."

"What?"

Charles chuckled. "We're gonna get into trouble if we keep this up."

They broke apart, and she raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well, we don't have a bed, for a start."

She laughed quietly, resting her head on his shoulder, toying with his shirt collar. There was a small hole by the chest pocket she would need to mend. "We haven't been alone in months."

The flames cast flickering shadows over Charles' face. "I know. I'm sorry."

Caroline slipped her hand into his shirt to touch his skin. "Don't be sorry. You're working so hard."

He took her hand away, brought it up to brush the knuckles across his lips. "Everything will be done before you know it, Caroline. I promise."

His voice was quiet, low. The smell of woodsmoke clung to him, and she raised her head to let him kiss her again. There was very little urgency between them, only the contentment of being together, unhurried by the presence of children or noise. Caroline laughed against his lips when her hair fell heavily over her shoulder, blown by the wind, and he batted it away.

"Do you want-"

"Yes."

"I'll be careful," he promised.

"I know."

"I don't want to get you dirty."

"The wagon cover?"

He grinned. "That could work."

She nodded, catching her breath. Her heart was jittery, and her face was hot in the semi-darkness as he led her by the hand a bit away from the fire, where the canvas wagon cover was spread out, tacked to the ground by heavy stones at each corner. On half of it possessions were spread out evenly, and the other side had been left bare so laundry could dry and the girls could sit somewhere while mending without dirtying their clothes.

"I'll be careful," he said again, kicking off his shoes and grinning, the moonlight caught his teeth and the whites of his eyes.

She nodded, and made herself comfortable, laying back on the canvas-covered ground, which was softer than she'd imagined, and certainly softer than the dirt floor in the cabin.

What followed was contentment and pleasure Caroline didn't remember feeling in years, maybe because it had been so long since the last time they'd been together. Perhaps every sensation was heightened because they were under a blanket of stars, with only the sound of the wind moving through the grasses. Charles moved over and in her, she felt full of him in both body and soul. When he caressed her breast, though, she flinched.

"What's wrong?" he asked, breathless.

"I'm sorry, they're a little sore." She pulled him back down.

"Don't be sorry," he said, kissing her shoulder quickly. "Sore?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry."

"We can stop," he said, though it seemed a Herculean effort to stop now. He was buried in her. The wind blew, chilly on her legs and arms. She shivered.

"No, don't stop."

And they didn't.

Caroline threw a hand out to grip the canvas, breathing heavily as his thrusts became more intense. She bit her lip to stop from crying out, and moaned instead, turning her head. Charles groaned in response, not trying to be quiet, as she was. Neither of them were cold now. Gripping her leg and bringing it up to wrap around him, he sunk further inside.

"Oh, my God," he said, exactly the same way he'd said it on their wedding night, as if in disbelief, when her body started contracting around him in little flutters. It had surprised her just as much, but now she couldn't think, she was in heaven. "Oh, my God."

When she could breathe again, she was dimly aware of him cursing, his body abruptly leaving hers. The now-chilly air on her sweaty skin sent a cramp through her.

"Damn it!"

"What? Charles, what is it?" she asked, propping herself on her elbows, pulling her dressing gown over her body.

"I said I'd be careful," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it! I forgot!"

She sighed, reaching for him. "It's all right."

He breathed heavily, wiped a hand across his face to clear his head. "Sorry. Sorry. I know it was years before you got pregnant again after Laura," he said, alluding to the baby they rarely talked about, who had been born too early, and hadn't lived. "We just said we were going to wait, that's all. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Charles. It's all right, really."

He sighed, laying again beside her. She knew he was unhappy, but at least he wasn't angry. Not yet, anyway.

In the morning they were shy with each other. Caroline almost spilled his coffee while pouring it, and Charles became extremely interested in hearing about the girls' dreams during breakfast.

"...and the bear came right to the door," Laura was saying, "right up close, and he roared. But you woke up, Pa, and you got your rifle, and you shot him dead!"

"That sounds like a nightmare!" Mary exclaimed.

"Yes, I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Come on, Caroline, it sounds like we've got ourselves a brave little hunter! If we were still in Wisconsin, I might have let you lay out the traps with me this year, Half-Pint," Charles said.

"Are we ever going back to the Big Woods, Pa?"

"I don't think so, Mary, not as I see it," he said. "We're going to have a beautiful life here on the prairie. And pretty soon some other settlers might come, and we'll have some neighbors, and they might have some little girls to play with now and then."

"Charles," Caroline warned. "Let's not get everyone's hopes up too high before the sun's fully risen."

His eyes twinkled.

"Oh, it would be great to have other kids around," Laura said wistfully. "If there were boys, I bet they'd go fishin' with me."

"Bet they would," Charles said. "In the meantime, though, you've got a great friend in your sister. You ought to take advantage of that."

"Yes, Pa. Mary, will you go fishin' with me today?"

"Hold your horses, Half-Pint, we've got a house to build!"

"Oh."

"Tell you what, girls," Caroline said. "If you do some mending for me this morning, and I don't have to mind you too much, we'll go for a swim and wash up before dinner a little downriver. That'll be nice, won't it, on a hot day like today?"

"Oh, we'll be good, Ma, don't you worry!" Laura said.

Caroline chuckled. "All right. Your Pa and I have to finish putting up the walls today. We might have the cabin finished by the end of the week."

Mary was visibly relieved. "Then I'll really feel safe. It'll be like being at home again."

Excited by the prospect of swimming, and eager to get some work in before the sun climbed too high in the sky, they all set about their tasks efficiently and without complaint. Caroline and Charles first put up the logs Caroline had carved notches into, which fit snugly as they should on each side. When those ran out, they pulled more logs from the wagon and Charles made notches with two easy swings of his axe while Caroline brushed her hair off her sweaty face.

The walls were getting taller, but Caroline wasn't. Without the same upper body strength as her husband, lifting the logs almost above her head eventually became too much. Midway through lifting one, a spell of dizziness came over her, and she lost her grip on the wood. It tumbled down, and she inhaled sharply.

Charles rushed over to her, putting his hands on her arms. "Come on. They're all in, sit down," he urged.

"I'll be all right in a minute," she said, keeping a hand on the wall of logs to steady herself.

He shook his head. "We could both use a rest. Sit down, now."

Guiding her to the ground, her vision blurred a little at the edges, but everything steadied and settled into place the moment she was sitting. From the sound of his breathing beside her, he was tired, too. Caroline exhaled deeply and opened her eyes to his resigned face.

"This is no work for a woman," he said, shaking his head. "I never should have let you do it."

"I'm all right, I said. And you can't raise the walls by yourself."

"You almost fainted!" he protested.

"I got dizzy. I just need a minute." Caroline brushed stray hair out of her face and wiped her dirty hands on her apron front, wincing a little at the movement. Her chest was, if possible, even more sore today.

"Oh, my God," Charles said, incredulous.

"Charles, please don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"You're already pregnant, aren't you?" he said. He looked from her chest to her guilty face. "That's why you didn't mind, last night. That's why you've been sick." There was anger in his eyes, and she saw him bunch the fabric of his trousers.

"Charles-"

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly, cutting her off.

"About a month," she confessed. "But I'm two months gone, I think."

"What?" he breathed. "But we were so…"

She bit her lip. "Not the last time. When we were home, I mean. The last time, you didn't stop, either."

He stood then, pacing a little. She just drew her knees to her chest, relief and fear running through her.

"How could you not tell me?"

She shrugged. "I didn't know. Not when we left, anyway. And it would have spoiled everything. You would have turned back. We wouldn't have left for another year, maybe two. I couldn't do that to you. I know how unhappy you were."

He looked destroyed. "And you think this is better? I haven't even built you a bed, you don't have a roof over your head, and you think we can raise a baby out here?"

Caroline said nothing at first. "We've still got seven months, Charles. That's more than enough time."

"And you let me work you to the bone every day," he said to himself. "My God, Caroline, the last time-"

"Hard work wasn't the reason the baby didn't live, Charles. It was God's will that he be taken from us."

They could hear the girls giggling while they sewed, unaware of their parents' argument, and Charles seemed to relax slightly for their benefit were they to glance in the direction of the cabin.

"It's my fault. I never should have settled where there was no man to give me a hand. It's my fault for bringing you out here."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. I said yes, Charles."

"It is. We're out here because it's where I want to be. I took you away from your home, your family."

"Now that's nonsense," Caroline said. "Sit down, Charles."

He came back and sat beside her, their backs against the cabin wall. Turning to him, she took his hand, squeezing it firmly. "My home is where you are. And you and the children are my family."

Though there were tracks on his dirt-smudged face where sweat had run down, he still looked beautiful to her, and his eyes were wet.

"Caroline Ingalls," he said, "I love you. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to make everything all right. I'll make beds, and put a roof over your head, and I'll make it all right for you and the girls, and this baby that we made."

"You're not angry?"

"Only at myself for being selfish."

"Oh, Charles." Then, looking into his eyes with tears burning at her own, she said, "I love you, too."

He tugged her to him, and she wept into his shoulder for all the days she had been frightened, for all the times she should have told him the truth, and for, in the end, the kindness and forgiveness with which he accepted her news.

A/N: If you have a minute, I'd love to know what you think!