A/N: Thank you for reading! I was going to wait to post this, but I finished the chapter earlier than I thought I would, so here it is!

Chapter Six

June came, and brought with it the slow appearance of a table and two sturdy benches to eat at. Charles was also whittling away at a rocking chair which he kept in the stables, and would occasionally have Caroline sit to measure distances from leg to floor, hip to knee, shoulders to hip, like a seamstress. In parallel, Caroline managed to complete one summer skirt, and was working on another. The fabric was pale but floral cotton, and she worked with the future in mind, sewing a thin sleeve around each waistband and cutting lengths of elastic Charles had gotten in Independence to allow for expansion.

Charles came in one evening carrying a kerosene lamp after checking on Patty in the stables. It was after dinner, and the girls were in bed and waiting for their story. Laura looked up when he arrived.

"Is Patty still feeling poorly, Pa?"

"Well, she's a bit edgy," he said, blowing out the lamp. "That's to be expected now that she's so close to her time."

Mary looked over. "What if she dies when she has her foal?"

"She won't," Laura said quickly. Charles rubbed a hand over his tired face, and Caroline met his eyes for a moment. The girls hadn't seemed very curious about her growing midsection. She was still small enough to fit into her old clothes, but was carrying the baby high, or at least it felt like it. In her nightclothes it was more obvious. Charles had never checked on another mare this often, and Caroline knew it was more than a fear of losing a good horse. He was trying to direct his fear for her own safety in childbirth somewhere logical. Anywhere but at her.

"We mustn't even think such a thought," Caroline said. "We couldn't get along without the ponies."

"She'll do fine, won't she, Pa?"

"You bet she will, Half-Pint," he said, picking up his pipe and new tobacco. Outside, the distant howling of wolves.

"I'm going to go see how Patty is," Laura announced.

"You'll do no such thing," Caroline said. "Get back in bed."

Laura settled back into the covers.

"It's time you two were asleep," Charles said, yawning. "It's gettin' late."

"We're waiting for our story. You promised."

"I'm afraid you did, Charles. Or would you prefer I tell one, so you all three can get some rest?"

He chuckled. "I'd say yes, but I better stay up to keep an eye on Patty."

"She's a horse, Charles. Anyway, it's mostly just instinct."

He ignored the remark, sitting on the side of the girls' bed. "All right. What sort of story would you like to hear tonight?"

Caroline listened passively while he told them a well-loved fairytale. The sound of wolves distracted her, as it did most nights, but she forged ahead with her sewing. Her hands felt cramped and tired from being at it all week, but the temperatures would only get higher, and she couldn't afford to get lightheaded again, especially in front of her husband.

They went to bed, both exhausted, though Caroline woke slightly each time Charles left to check on Patty. She didn't know how many times he'd left (three?) before she felt him gently shaking her shoulder. Pulling herself from sleep was like plucking a stubborn weed from the ground.

"Caroline?"

She rolled to her back, squinting up at the lamplight. "Hmm?"

"I need your help."

"With what?" she whispered groggily.

"Get your dressing gown, it's a little cold."

She let him lead her by the hand like a reluctant, sleepy child to the stables, where he hung the lantern well out of the way but close enough to reveal Patty, evidently in some distress, pacing back and forth in the large stall.

"What is it?" Caroline asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Something's wrong. The foal's head should be facing me, but all I can feel is a little foot. At least, I think it's a foot. My arm's too big to reach very far in."

"You put your arm inside her?" Caroline sighed. "Charles, it's a horse. Just let nature take its course."

"Caroline, we need these ponies. I need your help."

"How could I possibly help? I've given birth to human children. I've never delivered any."

"Your arm is thinner," he explained. "If you reach in, you might be able to turn the foal while I hold Patty still. I saw my Ma do it once."

Caroline sighed, untying her dressing gown so she stood in only her sleeveless summer nightdress with her belly pressing at it. "All right. Get me some lard from the house."

She tried stroking the mare's velvety flank, making soothing sounds, but the horse was easily frightened, and shied away from her touch. Caroline touched her own middle, pressing gently at the new firmness. The baby hadn't quickened yet, but probably would soon.

She was more alert when Charles returned with the lard, and she scooped some out with two fingers, spreading it over her arm and up to the shoulder.

"I'll hold her still," Charles said.

"She won't like that," Caroline said, knowing from experience that being forced to do anything one doesn't like while giving birth was never welcome. Patty started making distressed sounds, but Caroline soldiered on, surprising herself with her own confidence as she reached inside the mare's birth canal and immediately felt the hardness of the foal's hoof, or knee. It was all very foreign.

Sinking her arm in further until she was in past her elbow, her hand became more familiar with the shapes and contours of the animal. Laura and Mary had been normal deliveries, but Caroline remembered her sister being born breech. That was buttocks first. This was a leg. It had to be. And this smooth plane was a flank, or neck.

"You're right, it's a leg. I think it's the left leg," Caroline called, feeling her arm squeezed by a contraction. "If I can bring both of them out, we should be able to pull the foal."

"Great!" he called, sounding strained. "Think you can do it?"

Caroline grimaced, digging deeper inside. "I don't know, but Charles…This might save Patty. I'm not sure about the foal."

After a pause in which Patty snorted and strained again, Charles cleared his throat. "I know. But we have to try."

Caroline waited for another contraction to stop, then reached as far as she could and to the left. After some searching, she touched something else, long and bony.

"Come on, girl," she said, gently uncurling the leg and pulling it to join the other. The foal's head had to be close to its mother's entrance. With the legs out, at the right angle, gravity could do its work. Caroline was vaguely aware of one of the children's presence in the stables, of Charles talking to her, letting her stay, but Caroline focussed all her midnight concentration on the task at hand. Slowly, waiting for contractions, she managed to bring the right leg out, and reach back in for the left.

The force of the next contraction ejected her arm, by now slick and covered in birthing fluids, and the foal's nose followed. Caroline saw the nostrils flare.

"It's alive!" she called, stepping back.

All at once there was a delicate, damp, dark foal at her feet. It lay there, and for an agonizing moment her hopes were dashed. Caroline got on her knees beside the spindly animal, and rubbed its flank. Nothing about the foal was soft and malleable. He or she was all bones and ridges and planes. She rubbed it again, patting firmly. The creature flared its nostrils again, and opened its mouth once. Caroline smiled.

"There we are," she said softly, and felt Patty's warm breath on her neck as the pony sniffed her, trying to decide if she was a threat to the new foal.

Charles was beside her, and helped her to her feet. His hand was shaking, and Caroline realized just how desperately he'd needed Patty's foal to live. At the gate of the stables, Laura stood, wrapped in Caroline's red shawl, awe-struck.

"All right, Laura, back to bed," Caroline said gently.

"But I want to see the foal!"

"You'll see her in the morning, Half-Pint," Charles said. "She's brand new right now. Patty's going to take care of her, and she'll be ready to see you in a few hours."

Laura shrugged. "All right. I'll go back to bed."

"We'll be along in a minute," Caroline said as Laura trudged sleepily back to the cabin. "We need to clean up a bit," she said to Charles, walking to the water basin by the cabin and rinsing her hands and arm, scrubbing at it with a rag, already damp from dew. Charles followed suit, pulling off his shirt and cleaning the arm he'd used to feel for the foot. When they had finished, they stood, and Caroline tugged her dressing gown over her cold arms.

"Caroline," he said, stopping her before she could walk back to the house. Sleep beckoned like a dear friend.

"What?"

"What are we going to do?"

She kneaded her eyes. "About what?"

"The baby, Caroline." He was wide awake, and still frightened.

Sighing in the dark, she took his hand and squeezed. "It'll be all right. I've done it three times now, and we have two beautiful, healthy girls inside who came with no trouble. You have to have faith."

"I wish I had your faith," he confessed.

She chuckled. "Come to bed, Charles. Tomorrow is a new day."

With no crops to plant until they could afford a plow, Charles had to spend much of his time hunting and preparing pelts to trade in Independence. If they were lucky, a plow could be theirs come September, seeds by January, and they'd be ready to plant their first crops in the spring. It wasn't the most secure way of life, but it was theirs.

Caroline was outside melting down lye for soap when Charles readied Pat to go off hunting, hoping this time to catch a bear. Laura was chatting with him instead of doing the crocheting Caroline had asked her to start.

"Caroline, I'm off," Charles called over. "You be careful not to let that lye get in your eyes."

"It's just the fumes that make them tear," she assured him, sniffing. "You be careful!"

"I will!"

Laura handed him his rifle, then hopped down from the stable fence where she was perched. Trudging back to the house, she muttered, "Big people have all the fun."

"Oh, yes indeed!" Caroline said, her eyes streaming. "Why don't you go see if the chickens have laid yet. This morning I only found one."

As the day passed, Caroline sensed an odd change in the weather. It looked as if it might rain one minute, but pockets of sun seemed to stream down the next, and the air hadn't shifted from the heat of summer despite the darkening sky. She only hoped Charles would be home before supper. Standing and setting her knitting on the table, she announced she was going outside to check if the soap had cooled.

"I'll come with you, Ma," Mary said, scooting off her bench and following.

When they went outside, strange winds whipped at their skirts, pulling them in one direction one minute, and the other the next.

"I don't like the look of that sky," Caroline said, looking in the distance. There was a greenish brown hue to it. "I wouldn't want your father to get caught in a storm." She bent to check the soap, touching it lightly.

"Ma!" Mary gasped suddenly, pointing in the opposite direction.

"What?" Caroline turned her head over her shoulder, expecting to see Charles with some large animal draped over Pat, but it was not the case. She stood, frozen to the spot.

Spread over the prairie was an enormous, dark cloud the same shape as a dirty nickel. And skimming the ground like a sieve was an ugly twister. Even from where she stood, a fair distance off, Caroline could see the swirl of the wind, and the dust and dirt whipped up from the ground to join the funnel.

"Oh, my God."

Mary gasped again, her attention torn away. "Ma! You always say we don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"We have to get inside, Mary," Caroline said sharply. "Get inside right now." Tugging her daughter's hand, Caroline abandoned her soaps for the relative safety of the cabin. She didn't know much about twisters, only that they were dangerous, and that whatever happened, the girls mustn't discover how frightened she was. It would only make matters work. Slightly worse. Charles was still out on Pat, on the side of the prairie the tornado was moving across.

After half an hour of nothing but some noisy wind, Caroline chanced another look, first checking their eastern-facing window where the twister might be visible, then venturing outside. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible besides the fact that the light had fallen, the sky dark with cloud cover. She could smell rain in the air. He should have returned by now.

Going back inside, Caroline served supper while the storm raged, rain coming down so violently it began to leak through the roof. She didn't dare open the door, afraid of the creek overflowing. And all the while she kept telling herself he'd be home soon. Any minute. A frantic knock on the door to be let inside. The neigh of Pat. Something. Anything.

But hours passed, and eventually the rain stopped. The girls were restless, and wouldn't sleep without knowing their Pa was safe.

"It's so late," Mary said, breaking the silence while Caroline tried to knit at the table. She hadn't made much progress. "Maybe something happened to Pa."

"Nothing happened," Laura said confidently. "He told me Pat can handle a storm better than any horse he's known."

Caroline smiled for their benefit. "Your father knows how to take care of himself."

At that moment, the door latch lifted, and Charles appeared. He was soaked to the bone and looked slightly shaken, but Caroline didn't think she'd ever seen such a beautiful sight.

"Charles!" she exclaimed, rushing to her feet. "I've been beside myself with worry!"

He embraced her with one arm, drenched as he was, and took a steadying breath into her shoulder. The baby rolled lazily inside of her, making its presence known for the first time beyond the shy flutterings, increasing Caroline's happiness tenfold.

"Did you see the twister, Pa?" Mary asked. "I was scared."

"I wasn't," Laura said. "Well, maybe I was a little worried."

He nodded, kissing Caroline's cheek briefly. "Let me dry off before I get your nightgowns all wet," he said as the girls rushed forward for their own hugs. They stopped short. "Sorry, honey," he said to Caroline, whose new dress was now soaked on the front. She couldn't care a whit, and helped him undress.

"No need to worry, I just went a little further than I thought I would," he said, kicking off his boots. Tomorrow she would wash their new hardwood floor.

"Did you get a bear, Pa?"

"No, Half-Pint," he said. "No, I didn't have any luck at all."

Caroline could see his disappointment in the set of his jaw as she helped him out of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

"All right, girls," she said. "Into bed. You'll get your hugs and kisses when your father's in his own nightclothes."

They obeyed, waiting patiently and talking about the fierce storm while Charles dressed. He kissed both his daughters who, tired out from the excitement of the day, were on their way to dreamland with no bedtime story before he'd even stood up from their bed. He moved to sit on the edge of his, running a hand through wet hair. Caroline stood beside him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded, but pulled her close and nuzzled her middle, still wet from his clothes.

"I'll get your supper," she said softly, touching the top of his head. "It's a nice hot stew."

"Sounds good," he said, and she heard him lay back while she prepared a plate of what was left over. She arranged two biscuits on the plate and stood to bring it to him, but in the small amount of time it had taken her, Charles seemed to have fallen asleep. She didn't try to wake him, just set the food aside for tomorrow, lowered the lamp, and undressed herself quietly in the darkness lit only by the embers of the fire, pulling a clean nightgown over her head and slipping carefully into the bed beside him.

The summer turned hotter and hotter, and the prairie grasses grew brittle and brown; they made a scratchy, straw-like sound when the wind blew through them. The largest, loudest crickets they had ever seen and heard lingered in the grasses, chirping all through the night, the noise becoming a pulsing sort of lullaby. When it got too quiet, that's when Caroline worried.

Toward the middle of August, Charles got a day's work in a cattle drive, and was paid to keep the cattle out of the dangerous ravines. In exchange he got a large cow and her new calf, too young yet to be separated from its mother. It seemed to Caroline then that life was tossing all its gifts at them. She was now able to make butter, give the children milk, and improve her cooking by using the fresh milk instead of boiled creek water.

If there was one thing to complain about, though, it was the lack of people. Caroline could sense it in all of them, as the heat made them irritable and short-tempered. They craved new companions, new topics of conversation, and the girls were growing up; they needed friends besides each other. And yet no new neighbors came to their side of the Verdigris river. Charles told them he had seen wagons drive by when he was hunting, but they were headed further south, and none stopped to even say hello. The only other humans Caroline had seen in months were the occasional Indians watching the house, or riding by on their way to hunt, usually on the other side of the little creek.

For a week or so there was talk of Edwards minding the cows and chickens while Charles took Caroline and the girls to Independence, but Caroline put the idea to rest. She knew her limits, now, and riding forty miles while carrying a baby whose flips and twirls made it nearly impossible to sit for long intervals was not something she could do. The pregnancy was now obvious to all but the dimmest of humans, and mixed with the unforgiving heat, Caroline felt like a simmering pot of water; she had to fight to keep from boiling over and losing her temper.

"I'll need to go to Independence before autumn, though," Charles said one evening. He watched Caroline conservatively cutting one of her best aprons in order to make nightclothes for the baby. "You need a winter skirt that'll fit, we should add supplies to the pantry, and Christmas will be here before we know it."

Caroline looked up. "You'd go by yourself?"

"Edwards just got back from his trip and he won't go again for months. I would have asked him, but we didn't have enough furs to trade then. Now we do."

Caroline busied herself pinning fabric together. "I suppose you have to go then."

Charles chewed on his pipe. "I don't like leaving you and the girls any more than you like the idea of Mr. Edwards checking up on you when I'm not here. But it's going to be a cold winter. The animals are already growing their new coats. We need to be ready."

She nodded. "When will you leave?"

"A couple weeks or so, before the weather changes."

"I'll be as big as a house by the time you get back," she said, keeping her eyes on her work.

"You've never been as big as a house." Charles chuckled. He looked over at Laura and Mary, asleep in their bed. "I can't believe how much they've grown."

Laura had the quilt thrown off, Mary was bundled underneath even in summer. Caroline smiled, watching their eyelids flutter as they dreamt.

"I remember Mary fitting perfectly in my two hands when she was born, and now look at her," he said quietly. "She's a little lady."

"Who could do with a book," Caroline added. "Her schooling won't go anywhere if her reading level stays where it is. She's already read the whole Bible, and that's about the most advanced material I have with me."

"I'll bear that in mind," he said, chuckling. "And Laura's such a pistol. Even as a baby she was a ball of energy. I thought she might grow out of it, be calm and quiet like Mary, but she hasn't."

Caroline smirked. "Much to my chagrin. I can never get that child to sit still." She watched his eyes sparkle as he looked at his sleeping daughters. "Charles?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want -a boy or a girl?"

"Well, we know all about girls," he said. "It would be nice to have a boy to help me, but I'd have to wait years until he grew up a bit, and by then all the work would be done and I'd be an old man."

"So…?"

He smiled. "You just concentrate on making a healthy, fat baby, and I'll be a happy man. I mean it, Caroline."

She pursed her lips, amused. "I'll do my best."

Caroline poured a generous amount of salt into a wooden bowl and took it outside to Charles, who was treating the animal pelts to keep the insides smooth. He worked on a crude work-table he'd made himself. The orange fox furs gleamed in the sun among the coats of badgers, muskrats, and rabbits.

"Thank you, darlin'," he said, taking the bowl from her hands. "Everything all right inside?"

"They're doing some arithmetic. I'll let Laura come and help you when she finishes up. She's been asking all morning."

"I could use a Half-Pint sized hand," he joked. The neighing of unfamiliar horses caught him off guard, and Caroline followed his gaze in time to see two impressive Indians on their pinto horses cantering toward the cabin. She froze when they stopped in front of the door.

Charles stood beside her and took her hand, which was clenched in a frightened fist by her side.

"Just take it easy," he whispered.

One of the Indians, who wore a fur cap, red beads, and carried himself with certain dignity, dismounted, followed by his companion. The first man took in the cabin, and Charles let her go to approach the man. Caroline's heart raced, but she knew that in his presence it was unlikely the Indians would attack her or the children.

"Vous avez bien construit."

"Doesn't sound like Indian talk," Charles said quietly over his shoulder.

"I think it's French," Caroline said. Vous avez bien she knew, but the verb was unfamiliar.

"Got any idea what he said?"

"Something to do with the cabin," she guessed.

"Maybe he wants to go in and sit down." Charles gestured a direction at the Indian. "Come. Inside."

"Charles!" She looked at the furs, frightened the other Indian would abscond with them, but he seemed determined to follow the first, clearly his superior.

"We have to be friendly, Caroline," Charles said easily. He unlatched the door and beckoned the Indians into the cabin.

Caroline followed, but sat on her bed at the first opportunity, where Laura and Mary were doing their work. By the time she made it to the bed, her daughters had forgotten their schoolwork. Mary leaned into Caroline for reassurance.

"Sit," Charles said, indicating the rocking chair. The Indian sat, and jumped a little when it rocked back.

"Je vous remercie pour votre hospitalité."

Charles, with his pipe in his mouth, didn't understand. Again, there were words Caroline could pick out, and others she could only guess at.

The Indian put a hand on his chest, resting over the intricate beading. "Soldat du Chene."

Charles darted a look at her.

"I think he's telling us his name," she provided.

"Oh." Charles put a hand to his own chest. "Ingalls," he said, quite clearly. Soldat du Chene repeated the strange word.

"Right." He took his pipe from his mouth and offered it. "Like a good smoke?"

Du Chene took the pipe. "Merci."

Nothing in this Indian's manners seemed to offend or even frighten. Caroline couldn't help but think how things would be with Charles away in Independence all next week. She wasn't as quick on her feet these days. The baby kicked, sensing her distress.

Soldat du Chene took a long puff on the pipe, releasing the smoke in a series of perfect rings. Laura's mouth fell open, but this was no time to correct manners.

"Good?"

Du Chene nodded. "Bon."

"I think he's Osage," Charles said quietly to Caroline. "I read somewhere they picked up French talk. He looks to me like a chief."

"Is that a bear claw?" Laura's voice was full of awe.

"Laura," Caroline warned. Indeed, there was a large claw on a string around the chief's neck.

To her immense relief, the Indian smiled warmly, leading Caroline to believe he understood more than he had originally let on. "Amulette." He took another slow draw on the pipe, then handed it back to Charles. "Merci."

Soldat du Chene stood slowly, and approached the bed where the three of them sat with no malice in his expression. Mary leaned closer to Caroline. Laura looked up at the chief's face. They all watched as he slowly took off the bear claw amulet and, after consideration, put the necklace on Laura. She didn't move, but didn't seem frightened, either.

"Que cette amulette vous apporte bonne fortune." He touched her chin, the reddish brown of his skin contrasting sharply with Laura's peachy, freckled complexion.

And with this small ritual over, Soldat du Chene took his leave, followed by his silently stoic companion. They went calmly and quietly, closing the door behind them. The Ingalls listened to the sound of the horses flaring their nostrils, the thud of their hooves as the Indians rode off.

"Thank goodness he's gone," Caroline said while her heart rate slowed back to normal.

Charles lit his pipe again. "Why? He was kind of nice."

"For an Indian," she conceded.

"Well, I wouldn't be upset about it. A few months from now there won't be an Indian left in the territory."

It was music to Caroline's ears. But then she considered the ramifications. No one could be happy about being moved off their land.

"But why not, Pa?"

"The government's gonna make 'em move, Half-Pint," he explained, watching her turn the bear claw over in her hand.

"Move where?"

He shrugged. "West, I guess."

Mary sat up and sighed. "I'm glad."

"Well I'm not!" Laura countered. "Does Soldat du Chene have to go, too, even though he's a chief?"

"I'm afraid so," Charles said.

Laura considered this information. "It's not fair," she said at last. "They were here first." Caroline watched as her daughter stood from the bed, fingers still puzzling over the bear claw, and opened the door to go outside.

No one said anything, but each felt slightly like an intruder rather than an adventurer for a while afterward.