Chapter Four

Within the span of two days, Charles had built two beds; one for the girls to share, and one for them. It was only after the beds were made and the wagon cover stretched across the half-finished walls of the cabin as a tent-like, undulating roof that Charles mentioned going to Independence for more supplies. He also wanted someone to help put up the cabin, and was prepared to pay two dollars for a hired man to come and stay a week.

"That's much more than we can afford," Caroline said, scrubbing at a soiled apron. She kept the books just as well as he, maybe better. "All we need to do is turn the washbasin over and I'll be tall enough to help you put the walls up. It'll hold me."

"Caroline, I am not going to have you doing a man's work in addition to everything else." He looked at her middle. It had taken a heavy dose of persuasion that morning to even let her do the washing up, and now she was doing laundry.

She scoffed. "And you'd give two dollars to someone you don't even know just to finish this cabin? Charles, that could buy us two months worth of supplies."

"It's not just the cabin, Caroline," he said. "The stable for the ponies. A chimney. Furniture."

She couldn't argue with the need for a stable, and the idea of a solid table, with chairs instead of overturned logs was heavenly. Still, "I can make do without a chimney."

"It's April, Caroline. Come the end of summer the winds'll pick up. We can't have any fire outside."

Prairie fires. She looked at him. They couldn't leave the half-finished cabin unattended for days and go into Independence together. She would have to stay behind with the girls. "How long will you be gone?"

He looked at the horses, and in the set of his jaw Caroline saw it tear at him, the idea of leaving his family. "Two days to get there. At least. Another to trade pelts and find a man."

"Five days, then. And that's if this weather holds." She looked at the clear arc of blue sky, shading her eyes. Being on her own with the girls with no horses, in the wide open prairie, on land known as Indian Territory, for almost a week…She scrubbed harder at the apron to loosen the grease stains, turning her attention to the hot water.

Charles sighed, no happier than she was. "I'll ride out today and get you some more logs, chop them so you'll have plenty for the fire. I won't be gone long."

Nodding curtly, she continued washing. "Please tell Mary I need fresh rinse-water before you leave," she said softly.

Just as the little flames grew, licking at the dry logs and reaching toward the pan Caroline was preparing a prairie-hen stew in, Laura announced her father's arrival.

"He's got more logs than I've ever seen!" Her voice rang out like a little bell, and Caroline looked to see her running to greet Charles.

"Laura, be careful! Don't frighten the ponies!"

Whatever she said in reply was lost by the crackling of burning wood. Caroline looked up over her work to see that the wagon was indeed loaded high with logs, much more than he had ever brought before in one day. Laura had run far enough ahead for him to pull her up into the wagon and ride on his lap, letting her drive the ponies closer.

"Caroline!"

She stood, glad for the stretch.

"I found us a neighbor!"

A smile spread across her face as easily as sunshine on a flower. "Another settler?"

"Do they have a little girl?" Mary asked hopefully.

"No, no." Charles stopped the horses, pulled the wagon brake, and got down. "Edwards. That's his name." He held out his arms and Laura jumped into them. "He's a bachelor. Lives on the other side of the creek." Charles set Laura down and she let Patty nuzzle her cheek. "He helped me chop and load all this wood today. And Caroline, tomorrow he's gonna come over and help us put up the cabin."

Relief ran through her like cool water. "How kind of him!" She giggled when Charles picked her off her feet and swung her around like he had years ago.

"Oh, Charles, put me down before I'm sick," she said quickly.

He obeyed instantly. "Sorry."

"That's all right," she said, holding a hand to her middle. "Well, I can't say I'm not delighted you won't have to go all the way to Independence, although we must still pay him."

"He's a wonderful man. Says he'll be just as pleased to have two meals a day in exchange."

Caroline clucked her tongue. "We can do better than that."

"You're gonna like him," Charles promised.

She grinned. "Oh, I know I will!"

"Half-Pint, come help me hitch up the horses and water them," Charles said. "And Mary, you help your Ma."

The next morning Caroline lurched out of bed and batted the canvas, which had sunken down with a heavy dew, out of her way as she rushed out of bed. She didn't make it very far before the vomiting started, though it was only bile. Her throat was sore from weeks of being sick, and her voice crackled throughout the day. Today she was glad to be out of bed early, and built a new fire, lighting it before she went back inside to dress herself and the girls.

Breakfast was almost ready when Charles called out a greeting to a stranger approaching on horseback, going to meet him. Caroline had not expected him at this hour, but knew the work would be finished quickly if the men got an early start.

"Laura, stay here," she said, as the little girl started to get up to run and greet their neighbor. "Wait to be introduced." Laura slumped.

Caroline watched discreetly as the man swung down from his pinto stallion, shook Charles' hand, and followed him to the fire pit, with logs all around as makeshift seats.

"Edwards, this is my wife, Caroline, and my girls, Mary and Laura," Charles said proudly, indicating which little girl belonged to which name.

"Pleased to meet'cha," Edwards said, his accent a southern twang, certainly unfamiliar to the girls' ears. He tipped his frayed, brimmed hat in her direction. "Ma'am."

"You're just in time for breakfast, Mr. Edwards," Caroline said, although they had place settings for only four.

"Well, now I don't normally take breakfast in these parts," their neighbor said. Caroline bristled slightly. "But I'd be a fool to turn down such a delicious smellin' breakfast, Mrs. Ingalls."

Charles smirked as Caroline's jaw released, and Laura giggled.

In Wisconsin their neighbors had been respectable, well-dressed, well-spoken folk. Caroline supposed later that anyone who came out west wasn't likely to fit into those neat boxes, especially a bachelor. She couldn't imagine coming out here alone. Then again, she couldn't imagine a woman who'd willingly become Mrs. Edwards, either.

His boots, dirty with dried mud, were only slightly brushed clean by the morning dampness of the prairie grasses. He wore no jacket, which hadn't shocked Caroline as much as it would have in Wisconsin, but the checkered shirt beneath his suspenders desperately needed mending, with frayed cuffs and the beginnings of holes at the elbows that could at least be helped with patches. And while his manners were good over a tin plate, and his fork held in the left hand, little could be said for the sort of talk that drifted over from the cabin while he and Charles worked.

Mary and Laura giggled every time the man used a slang expression, and looked at Caroline with open mouths when he cursed. It was a dim, damp day, with a fine mist in the air, and with the laundry finished and the dishes washed, there was little to do besides school the girls and prepare lunch.

"Can't I go help Pa and Mr. Edwards?" Laura said, after a third spelling error, though it was difficult without tablets.

"Certainly not," Caroline said. "They're busy, and literacy is just as important as handiwork. Now, try again: 'lettuce is green'."

"L-E-T-U-S space I-Z space G-R-E-E-N."

The men stopped for lunch and ate jovially, and Caroline could secretly admit the compliments toward her cooking were very appreciated. Edwards had not been eating the same stews, cornbreads, and porridges the Ingalls had for months. She suspected a diet mainly composed of dried meat and fruit from Tennessee, his home state.

Because of the lack of women's work, and Charles' refusal to let her help in the building, Caroline had donned a cream-colored blouse, and had been careful not to mar it or the matching apron as she prepared lunch with the girls. Laura wandered away while Mary helped with the washing up, and it was only when Caroline was fetching the last of the dirty plates that she saw where her youngest daughter had gone off to; Laura was swirling her mouth as Edwards continued to chew the wad of tobacco in his cheek.

"Laura!"

Laura looked up sharply, then swallowed.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Laura smiled. "Mr. Edwards is teaching me how to spit!"

"Spit?" Caroline bit the word out like a bad seed. When she turned her attention to Mr. Edwards, he seemed unashamed. She took a steadying breath."Do you consider that a worthy accomplishment, Mr. Edwards?"

"Well, I don't know how worthy it is, ma'am. It sure comes in handy in a stiff breeze." He chewed the tobacco again, and Caroline half-believed he would spit then, to prove it as the wind rippled her skirt and apron.

Laura looked at him as if this was gospel. Caroline bit the inside of her cheek and looked at him seriously.

Mr. Edwards tipped his hat to Laura. "Best get back to work."

"Mighty fine lunch, ma'am," he said to her, tipping his hat again and wiping his hands on his trousers, heading to the cabin, where Charles was already back at work. Caroline gave Laura a sharp look, and she looked properly chastised. The sooner the work was finished, the better.

"He is uncivilized," she said after three days of Mr. Edwards' company, and after the girls were asleep. Charles paced leisurely and smoked a pipe. She had drawn her cranberry shawl around her shoulders in the cool April night, though she sat close to the fire.

"Well, he's a little rough around the edges, but it's because he hasn't had the advantage of the refining influence of a good woman," Charles said with a humor-warmed voice, trying to win her.

Caroline raised her eyebrows."I can imagine the kind of woman he's known." She buttoned the cuffs of her blouse, rolled up from the washing. "I don't like having him around the children, Charles, especially Laura. For some reason, she's taken to him."

Charles smirked around his pipe. "So have I. He's a good man. He's being kind to us. I expect you to be civil and friendly to him." It was the first time he'd given her an explicit order in a long time.

"I am civil!" she retorted. "But I will not be friendly. I doubt he's ever seen the inside of a church."

Charles chuckled. "I hardly think that's any way to judge a man. I know an awful lot of pious churchgoers who wouldn't think twice of doing some poor old widow woman out of her pittance."

Again, the eyebrows raised. "Do you? Well, don't go bringing any of them to breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

His eyes twinkled, and he removed his pipe to kiss her brow, knowing she hated the taste of tobacco. "Oh, I won't. I'll see to the ponies, and then I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

Now they had tall walls, tall enough to stand without the canvas brushing their heads, and the walls of a stable. It was true, Mr. Edwards had helped them more in three days than she and Charles would have ever been able to do together.

"Good night," Charles said quietly, walking away.

"I'll be friendly," she conceded, "but my heart won't be in it."

She sat by the fire a while longer, listening to the comforting noises and watching the way the wind blew the flames. The band of her skirt was tightening enough to cause mild discomfort throughout the day, and Caroline knew she couldn't blame her cooking. It wouldn't be long until Charles truly would have to go to Independence for supplies, namely more fabric. At the rate he and Mr. Edwards were building, Charles could leave for five days knowing they had a roof and a door that latched close by the end of next week.

In three days more Caroline was standing inside her new cabin, roof and all. There were neat squares for two windows, and still no door, but it was something, and she was absurdly grateful. When she came out of the doorway she was smiling.

"I don't think it's too small," she said. Charles looked pleased as punch, and Mr. Edwards was perched on the roof, still chewing his tobacco, looking worn out but satisfied. "And it really looks sturdy."

"Can't put on a door or build you a good floor without ready-cut lumber, and there's no panes for the windows," Charles said.

"Could be," Mr. Edwards said. "If you give me the money, Ingalls, I'm headed to Independence day after tomorra'. Wouldn't slow me down a bit to pick up some good lumber and glass. That way you can stay with the missus and the girls."

She thought she detected a slight glance toward her middle, but couldn't be sure. And she wasn't showing yet. She was relieved, but couldn't shake the slight fear of giving Mr. Edwards precious money and sending him to a city.

"I'd be much obliged," Charles said.

"That suit you, ma'am?"

Caroline nodded. "I guess I'd better start supper." She saw Charles gesture with his eyes at Edwards, prompting her. "Mr. Edwards, will you stay to supper? We're only having stewed rabbit and dumplings, of course, but-"

"You got'churself a customer, ma'am," Edwards said. "The thought of going back to chewin' jerky after all your good cookin's enough to make me upchuck." He spit some tobacco into the grass, and Caroline fought the urge to do just that. Charles' eyes were twinkling with some secret joke.

"We'll be along in a minute, Caroline," he said instead of laughing.

The supper tasted better than usual with the prospect of a roof over their head that night instead of the rippling wagon cover. It was nearing May, and the evening was warm and merry. After the washing was done, they gathered round the fire again and Charles played his fiddle, a lively tune meant for dancing. And Edwards obliged, dancing with Mary and Laura in turn until their cheeks were pink and voices breathless with laughter. When Edwards held out an arm to her Caroline shook her head politely, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Come on, Mrs. Ingalls, let's see if I can get a laugh out of you, too."

"Oh, I don't think-"

"Come on, Ma! Dance!"

Charles winked at her, and she stood, smoothed her apron, and took Mr. Edward's arm. He was surprisingly civil and respectful, none of the wild turning he'd entertained Laura with, just a simple dance once around the fire before he gave her a hand back down and she sat on her log. She didn't laugh, but she couldn't help smiling, especially when Charles winked at her again, grateful she'd been friendly.

"You sure can fiddle, Ingalls," Edwards said as the tune ended, catching his breath.

"You sure can dance, Edwards."

"Play some more, Pa!"

"No more," Caroline said gently but firmly. "It's time for bed."

"Can't we stay up just a little bit longer?" Laura said. "Please?"

"No," Caroline repeated. "It's past your bedtime now. There's lots to do tomorrow." Afraid her tone was too harsh, she adjusted it. "And don't you want to sleep under the lovely roof your Pa and Mr. Edwards finished today? We all need our rest."

Mary and Laura nodded reluctantly.

"That sure is the truth," Edwards said. "I'd best be movin' on."

The girls continued to watch as Edwards pulled out his chewing tobacco and bit the end off, stuffing it in his cheek.

"All right, girls," Caroline said. "Off to bed."

They rose obediently and trudged off toward the house, old enough now to at least get changed and into the bed before Caroline came to pray with them, or their father came to tell a story.

"I sure do want to thank you, ma'am," Edwards said. "I don't ever recall tasting better rabbit. The way them dumplins of yours went way down with that delicious gravy...well, it took off like birds, it was that light."

The compliment softened any frustration. He was a lot of things Caroline didn't approve of, but Mr. Edwards was the most grateful man in the world when it came to a square meal.

"Thank you. And thank you for getting the lumber and the panes. We're all so grateful for your help."

"All in a day," he said, shrugging. "Well, I'll see you next week. Night, all." He tipped his hat and walked to unhitch Pepper, his horse.

"Take care," Charles said, picking up his fiddle. "I'll play you home."

"Now you're talkin'," Edwards said without turning.

In the time between meals and chores, Caroline tried to teach the girls as she'd started to do in Wisconsin. There she'd had a small blackboard and chalk, and Mary used her old slate while Laura listened. Here, she had dirt, sticks, and a whole world of distractions around her. Where the waist of her skirt rubbed against her middle was beginning to sting.

"Ma, can I go play with Jack?" Laura asked, looking wistfully at the dog, who was happily following Charles as he chopped wood and walked it over to the house.

"No, Laura," Caroline said, wiping her brow. It was the fifth time she'd been interrupted that morning, a bright day in early May that brought something new -heat, but no wind. "This is important. Please, pay attention. Now, as I was saying, addition involves combining the values of two numbers into a sum."

"What's a sum?"

"It means the total amount."

Laura still looked nonplussed.

"So, if you have two beans," Caroline said, placing two beans in Mary's open palm, "and you have one bean, Laura, and you give yours to Mary…" Laura put her bean into Mary's hand. "Now, how many beans would you have, Mary?"

"Three," Mary said confidently.

"Correct." Caroline cleared her throat, seeing Laura's eyes wander, and repeated the example, giving Mary and Laura two beans each, transferring Mary's beans to Laura, and posing the question to her younger daughter. "Laura?"

But Laura's jaw had dropped open, her mouth forming a little 'O'. She pointed. "Indians."

Caroline whipped around, scanning the horizon, squinting against the blazing sun. "Where?"

"Behind Pa!"

Caroline looked to Charles, who was by the stable working, then behind him. Sure enough, there were two horses in the distance, with men on each. Their dress was brown, their hair long and dark like a woman's before bed, but those were the only details Caroline could garner at this distance. She felt Mary holding onto her skirts.

"Girls, go inside. Don't run," she added sharply. "Go inside and wait for me."

"But-"

"Laura, you'll do as I say!" Caroline snapped. The girls walked off to the house. Moving more steadily than she felt, Caroline approached Charles, who was busy in his work, shaving down some logs, the pieces of wood coming off in long slices like apple peels.

"Charles, there's two Indians on the hill behind you. I think they're watching us," she said quietly, as if they could hear at that distance.

He looked at her first, saw the fear in her eyes, then looked casually over his shoulder to study them. The men had no visible weapons, nor were they charging the house. It was their differentness that frightened her more than anything. "Where are the girls?"

"Inside."

"Go be with them. I'll come soon enough."

"Charles-"

"Don't fret. They could just be curious." He squeezed her hand. When she moved to leave, she stole one more glance.

"Oh!" she said, blinking. "They're gone!"

He looked back, too. "Fancy that."

"I have to sit down," Caroline said, suddenly feeling weak and clammy. She did, right there in the grass and dirt.

Charles squatted beside her. "Caroline?"

"Pa! The Indians are gone!" Laura announced, and Caroline knew she'd been watching from the window. "I saw them ride away over the hill!"

"Quick, get your Ma some water, Half-Pint."

The water came quickly, and Caroline drank. Acting on impulse, she poured some over her neck, dampening her blouse. Charles put a hand on her shoulder as if bracing her upright. She hated looking weak in front of him.

"What if they come back?" she asked raggedly.

"Don't worry about that, now," he said. "Let's get you inside." Without waiting for her, he scooped her up and carried her like a bride to the house. Laura pulled the quilt they were using as a makeshift door aside so Charles could walk through. He placed Caroline gingerly on their bed, then perched on the edge.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cabin. The only light came through the two windows, muted by more quilts. It was cooler inside, but marginally.

"I wish there was a woman nearby," Charles said, almost to himself, running a hand through his hair.

Caroline did, too. At Mary's birth she'd had her mother and a midwife, and for Laura's her mother and sister. Their boy had come too early, the midwife caught him moments after arriving, and spent far longer trying to help him breathe. Caroline had pushed the birth of this coming child to the back of her mind, but knew it was likely she'd be all alone if no female settlers were in short distance.

"It's the heat," Caroline insisted, to soothe him. "I'm not used to it, that's all. I should have put on a summer dress."

"Why didn't-"

"They don't fit anymore, Charles," she said, more sharply than she intended.

"What's wrong with Ma?" Mary sounded small and frightened.

"Nothing," Caroline said. "I'm all right, Mary. We'll finish school on the bed. You may take off your shoes and sit here with me."

This time there was no argument from Laura. Instead of sitting and readying themselves for more school, though, both girls simply crawled beside her, curling close for comfort only she could give them.

"It's all right," she soothed. Charles looked at her warily. "I'm all right."

"I'll make the trip to Independence as soon as Edwards gets back with the lumber. I'll make you a door and go."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review if you'd like!