Chapter Eight

Pain, pain, pain, pain. That was all Caroline could think about. Pressure and pain. She could hear Charles' voice, frantic, but it came through cotton ears. Something about a midwife. Something about her mother. Something about snow. Another contraction started building, and she grit her teeth, feeling a vein pulse in her brow as she tried to not make too much noise. The girls were asleep in their room. She couldn't wake them, though Charles might if he kept speaking so loudly.

The other two births hadn't been this difficult. She felt like she was being ripped in two.

The contraction passed, and she tried to catch her breath. Her lip began to tremble. "Charles, I think something's wrong."

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, fear in his eyes. "Now, you don't know that." He tried to sound calm and comforting, but it was of no use.

"I do. Nothing feels as it should," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "Something's wrong. I want my mother."

He tucked hair behind her ears. "Honey, they're snowed in. Joseph went for the midwife."

"I know, but I want my mother." She hid her face as the tears began to fall. After a moment another pain gripped her, and she caught the cry with her hand, muffling the sound. "Oh, God, I can't do it!"

"Yes, you can," Charles was saying. "And I'm right here. I'm right here. I won't leave."

More pain, more tears. Then pushing because she couldn't wait any longer. Bearing down over and over with no relief. Her legs shaking from the effort. A gust of freezing air as the door opened. Confusion as Charles suddenly left her side. The door closing again.

"I need you at the edge of the bed, Caroline," the midwife said. "This baby's coming now."

"It's too soon."

"Doesn't matter, it's coming now."

Caroline nodded, and was helped to the edge where, in one mammoth push, the baby finally left her body. She fell back on the bed, chest heaving, and listened to the sharp slap, followed by deafening silence. More silence. She closed her eyes and bathed in it. The physical pain was gone, but her heart felt like it was being wrenched out of her chest.

"I'm sorry," cut her like a knife after waiting so long for a cry. "He came too early. Caroline, I…I can't get him to breathe." The woman's voice was calm but thick with emotion.

Caroline let the tears come, skating down from her eyes to the bedsheets. "Him? A boy?"

"Yes, it was a boy."

Someone gently shaking her shoulder. "Caroline, honey, wake up."

"I can't do it…Oh, God, I can't do it!"

"Caroline, wake up."

She wrenched herself from the dream.

Dark. A fire crackling. Different bed.

"Charles?"

He sighed in relief, sitting up in bed next to her. "You had another nightmare."

She swallowed, wiping her face of tears, grateful he couldn't see them. "I'm cold," she said, instead of addressing the real problem.

"I'll put another log on the fire." He leaned down and kissed her temple. "Be right back."

In the time he was gone she took steadying breaths and tried to put the image of that bed, that cabin, that night out of her mind. The look on Charles' face when the midwife told him the baby hadn't lived, the way Caroline had hidden her own after seeing how it crushed him.

The baby inside of her turned, large enough now to visibly contort the shape of Caroline's belly with its movements. Under the quilt, she put a hand on the little elbow or foot denting her nightgown, and it disappeared, settling.

"You dream about the fire again?" Charles said, getting back in bed.

She nodded.

"Thank God Edwards was here," he said, sighing. "I don't want to imagine what-"

"Neither do I."

He put a hand on her again. "Wildfire season is over, Caroline. We're heading into autumn. And by next spring I'll have put in an irrigation trench. That should stop the fires."

"I know."

Charles lay back down, moved aside her braid, and kissed the back of her neck. "Go back to sleep. Dream a nice dream this time."

"Mmm. I'll try."

Charles wrapped an arm around her, letting his hand rest on her belly. He tapped on the side with two fingers. "Dream about the baby instead."

Caroline nodded, but lay awake for a long time after his breathing slowed into the gentle rhythm of sleep. In none of her other pregnancies had the world seemed such a dangerous place to bring a child into. The prospect of giving birth was the only thing that had frightened her in Wisconsin. But now, in this wild land of storms, savages, and no family or friends, no church, no civilization for miles…Caroline didn't know how she'd manage. Thus far she'd been able to care for and school the girls, make three meals a day, and keep up with the seemingly endless amount of chores, all while being pregnant. Once the baby came there would be no mother to stay with her and care for the other children for the first few weeks, no sisters to cook meals and do the laundry.

Another thing troubled her. Try as she might to do as Charles said, to dream about the baby, she hadn't been able to picture the child at all in her mind. The only time she came close to it was one morning, when she'd risen early to take a walk outside in the dewy, waving grasses. The baby had danced inside of her, and she had the sudden vision of a little girl, no more than three or four years old, running through the grass beside her. When she turned, certain she'd heard a laugh, she saw only her shadow falling long beside her; the laugh sweet birdsong as the sun rose.

Any form of wood that was leftover after the prairie fire had been put to use rebuilding the stables, where Charles had been tirelessly working for weeks. It seemed there was always something new to be worked on or repaired, and he had already started preparing a large woodpile for the autumn and winter. After making an adjustable cool-weather skirt for herself, Caroline started deconstructing the summer skirt that had been mostly ruined in the fire, salvaging bits and pieces and managing to fashion some small gowns for the baby. Girl or boy, it would be wearing florals for the first several months of its life.

One afternoon in late September she was just casting on stitches to begin a pair of mittens for Laura with the yarn Charles had brought back from Independence when she heard the lowing of oxen, a sound so unfamiliar after all these months that she knew the news even before Mary burst in the house.

"Ma, it's another wagon! And they've got kids, too!" She waited, bouncing on her feet while Caroline rose carefully from the rocking chair and wrapped her red shawl closer. "Ma, are you gonna come see them?"

Caroline went to the window and looked out from behind the small curtain Laura had sewn herself. Sure enough, there was a wagon much like their own pulled up near the stables. She spotted a tall, bearded man talking with Charles while his wife, a worn-looking woman, sat in the wagon. Two boys with knobby knees were already outside the wagon, and Laura was speaking to them animatedly.

Normally her condition would have given her pause, especially this late, but they were the first people she had seen in almost nine months, and she couldn't resist the pull of new conversation. She let Mary take her hand and lead her out of the house.

The woman saw her immediately, but did not return Caroline's easy smile as they walked over. Her mouth was set in a hard line, her face browned by the sun. She didn't appear to be much older than Caroline, but the journey had aged her spirit. It was immediately clear to Caroline that this family had traveled hundreds more miles in their wagon than the Ingalls had that spring. Mary ran to join Laura.

"This is my wife," Charles said when she reached him, wrapping an arm around her. "Caroline, this is Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson."

"Pleased to meet you," she said.

"They've come all the way from Mississippi."

"Goodness! Are you hoping to settle here, in Kansas?"

"No, ma'am," Mr. Stevenson said. "We were headed to New Mexico Territory. Got off our trail. Thought we were in Texas until your husband here informed us otherwise." His voice conveyed just as much disappointment as it did courtesy. Caroline knew that if they had come this far, and were this off-course, their resources would be low, almost as low as morale. And winter weather was around the corner. If they didn't settle soon, they'd have to face freezing temperatures in a covered wagon.

"Come on, why don't you stay and take supper with us, make camp here," Charles invited.

"Please, do," Caroline echoed. "I'm sure we could all stand to see some new faces. I'll add a cherry pie to the offer."

"We'd be mighty grateful to ya," Mr. Stevenson said. He looked to his wife for approval.

"Yes, mighty grateful," she said, as if woken from a daze.

Caroline smiled. "Come inside where it's warm," she offered.

"Aw, Ma, do we have to?" Laura asked, clearly eager to start playing with her new friends. The boys, however, looked like they could use some food sooner rather than later. Once the plan was settled, two more children appeared out of the wagon. An adolescent girl who looked frail and sickly, and a toddler.

"See if your friends want some jerky from the root cellar," Caroline said, "but let them rest if they're tired. You remember how difficult riding in the wagon all day can be."

"Yes, ma'am," Mary said. She led the boys, with Laura, to the root cellar while Mrs. Stevenson, her daughter, and the littlest boy followed Caroline into the house.

"Please, make yourselves at home," Caroline urged. "Would you like coffee, Mrs. Stevenson?"

"Thank you," the woman said softly, sitting at the table with her children. The young girl pulled her brother into her lap. Caroline poured coffee for herself and Mrs. Stevenson, and got some milk for the children.

"Milk!"

Caroline winked at the little boy. "Yes, we have a cow!"

"We had a dairy in Mississippi," Mrs. Stevenson said. "Left all of that in May, and look where we are now."

The girl's cup was empty, and her eyes were fluttering, as if the milk had been water in a desert. The boy's cheeks were not as plump as they should be, the eye sockets pronounced. The family was starving. She got them more milk.

"You must be exhausted," Caroline said. "Independence isn't far from here. Two days by wagon, if you need more supplies before you carry on."

"Barely any money left," Mrs. Stevenson said. "Spent the last of it on some flour, and we're almost out of that, too." She shook her head. "If we spend any more there won't be enough left when we settle."

In some ways, the prairie had toughened Caroline, though most of their successes seemed to stem from luck. Their little cabin, the washline and outhouse, their cow and chickens must seem like manna from Heaven to the Stevenson family. Naively, she'd seen their arrival as an opportunity to converse and meet new people. Caroline had forgotten how much more difficult life was on the road, and she couldn't imagine feeding six mouths a day. Four had been a stretch.

"Sometimes the Lord provides for us when we least expect it."

"Same as he takes away," the other woman said bitterly. "Took away my Kathleen at the Mississippi crossin'. Believe me, Mrs. Ingalls, the Lord has had time enough to provide for this family, and He hasn't."

Caroline swallowed. "Mrs. Stevenson, I…I'm so sorry."

The girl leaned against the wall of the cabin and closed her eyes. The boy looked at Caroline, fascinated by the new face.

"What are you plannin' on doin' when your time comes?" Mrs. Stevenson's tone evened out, but it was still laced with hurt.

"Being strong, I suppose. There aren't any female settlers around here yet."

"Tie the cord off with twine and cut it cleanly," she said, unprompted. "Bury the afterbirth so none of the animals can get at it. Rosehip tea, if you've got it, to shrink the womb."

Caroline nodded, more grateful than she could express. "Thank you."

"There were seven of us before we lost Kathleen," she said, then gestured to the sleeping girl. "This one's twin. She fell from the wagon into the water."

Caroline didn't want to imagine. After a respectful pause, she said "I don't remember ever being as frightened as I was during our river crossing."

"We'll have to cross the Arkansas now. I'd just as soon settle here, but Patrick wants to grow squash and beans. He says the climate's right in New Mexico."

"Charles wants to grow corn. He'll go to Independence to trade for the seeds in the spring, after he gets more pelts."

"More milk!"

Mrs. Stevenson gave the boy a swift slap on the arm that made Caroline jump. "Eddie, mind your manners." The little boy began to cry, but Caroline was already up and fetching more milk.

Once they were all around the fire things were less tense, but Caroline knew how hungry the family was. She prepared far more than she normally would, and encouraged them to take as many helpings as they'd like. At first, the family politely declined after seconds, but she saw some of the children shyly asking for more, and their parents complying.

The men talked of the journey. Of the obstacles each had faced. Mr. Stevenson wanted to know if there had been any trouble with the Indians, which prompted Mary and Laura to tell the boys about their own encounter with Soldat du Chene while Charles enlightened Mr. Stevenson. The truth was that there hadn't been much trouble, only curiosity. The more she replayed it, the less Caroline believed the Indians who had come into the house that spring day actually meant her or the children any harm. Language barriers coupled with cultural differences was never comfortable. And Soldat du Chene had been respectful of their home. She only harbored a sneaking suspicion that the Indians had started the prairie fire.

With some help from Mrs. Stevenson, and using the pickled cherries brought all the way from Wisconsin, Caroline had managed two pies, which were gone almost as soon as they were served. Fed, watered, warm from the fire, and light-humored after Charles' fiddling, the Stevensons retired to their bedrolls, and the Ingalls to their cabin. The girls were exhausted after the excitement of playing tag, playing cards, and learning new games with the boys, and fell asleep almost instantly. Caroline was surprised by how depleted she was, and had to be gently woken by Charles after falling asleep while knitting by the fire. He led her quietly into bed, where she curled into a ball and entered a land of dreamless sleep.

She stirred when Jack started barking in the stables. Charles went to see what the bother was, and returned, bringing in some of the late-September chill when he curled around her again.

"What was it?"

"The girl going to the outhouse. Poor thing, she looked terrified."

Caroline chuckled, then drifted back to sleep.

She woke again when the latch opened, turning a little under Charles' arm to see Laura walking inside in her nightgown and cap. She was shivering slightly, and looked confused.

"Pa?"

Charles made a noncommittal noise and nuzzled Caroline's neck.

"Laura, what is it?" Caroline whispered, not wanting to wake him unless it was necessary.

"The Stevensons' wagon is gone. I thought they weren't leaving until after breakfast."

"What?"

Caroline tapped Charles' hand on her belly under the covers. "Charles, wake up. The Stevensons are gone."

He grumbled. "What? This early?" He saw Laura. "What are you doing out of bed, Half-Pint? It's dark out."

"I had to go to the outhouse."

"Maybe they needed an earlier start and didn't want to wake us," Caroline said.

Charles sat up and rubbed his face with his hand, exhaling deeply. "Maybe. I have a better idea, though. Stay here," he said grimly, swinging his legs out of bed and finding his boots.

Laura climbed into their bed and sat beside her mother. Caroline stretched a little and rolled from her side to her back, not an easy feat. She couldn't remain like this for long, but sometimes in the morning it felt good to have the weight of the baby against her spine for a moment, heavy and real. Charles left, and Laura put her hand over her sibling, smiling widely in the dark when it moved. Caroline yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. It had been nice to see new faces, but a part of her was relieved she wouldn't be preparing flapjacks for ten anymore.

Charles footsteps sounded, and the door opened again. He sat back on the bed, his jaw set. Caroline sat up awkwardly.

"Charles, what is it?"

"They raided the root cellar," he said. "Took most of the meat, some flour, the root vegetables I brought from Independence, and drove off. That's probably why Jack was barking. "

Caroline gasped. Laura shrank away, sensing a potential outburst.

"Well, are you going to go after them?" Caroline asked. "They can't be far."

Charles shook his head, his shoulders heavy. "It's no use. My guess is they went south, but they could have gone in any direction. I couldn't catch up with the wagon, and even then I wouldn't want to risk confronting them."

Caroline nodded, accepting his decision, though her stomach sunk. All those provisions Charles had gotten for the winter, gone. It was a significant loss. And there weren't enough pelts to warrant a trip back to Independence. In any case, he wouldn't leave them now, after all that had happened, and with Caroline so heavily pregnant.

"They needed it more than us," Caroline said carefully. "Six mouths to feed. With such a long journey ahead of them."

Charles nodded. Caroline knew he was more upset than he let on.

"Half-Pint, why don't you get dressed and milk Betsy," Charles said. Laura nodded without complaint, scooting off the bed while Charles lit the kerosene lamp. It wouldn't be long before Mary woke, too.

"We'll manage, Charles. We always have." She massaged a crick in her neck.

"I should have seen it coming. He told me how low their supplies were. And you saw the children."

"I did." Caroline peeled off the blankets, got out of bed, and reached for her shawl on the rocking chair.

"Where are you going?"

"To get myself dressed so I can update my inventory."

"I'll come with you." He got his trousers from where they were folded on the trunk, stepping into them and pulling the suspenders over his long underwear.

"Charles, I've been up and down that ladder a hundred times."

"And each time has been when no one's watching, and you can get away with it. Let me go down, I'll tell you what's there. Get your book."

They left shortly after Laura, and Charles climbed down the ladder into the small sod root cellar. Caroline stood and looked down, holding her small tablet that had the entire inventory carefully marked down, and a pencil. They updated it together, Caroline grimly rationing out what was left over.

"Three months," she said, "more if you're able to get more meat. I'll be able to salt some of it."

Charles was moving jars of pickled vegetables around on a shelf, looking behind them.

"What is it?"

He sighed. "The presents for the girls. They took them, too."

"We'll manage," she said again.

A/N: Sorry for the longer wait! Let me know what you think if you have a minute. I feel like every chapter I'm just making the family suffer one setback after the other, but that's a lot of what Little House consists of :)