In the Wash
A Little House Valentine's Tale
oooooooooo
He was about as exhausted as a man could be.
Charles Ingalls ran a hand along the back of his neck and wasn't the least surprised to see it come away filthy. Of course it didn't really matter since the hand was filthy too – as was everything else on him.
If he looked in a mirror, the mirror would probably run away!
The farmer blew a sodden sweat-soaked spiraling curl off his forehead and snorted when it moved less than an inch. He'd spent a back-breaking morning, noon, and evening muckin' out just about anything and everything that could be mucked – the barn floor, the horse stalls, the waterin' hole at the edge of his property and the family's well. He'd made his mind up to do it all in one day so he only had to clean it all off one time.
All of 'it' bein' a stinking combination of urine, manure, rotten plants, slimy leaves and the good Lord in Heaven above only knew what else!
Charles plunked his bottom down on a tree stump. He'd just rest for a minute or two before heading home to take a much-needed bath. The trouble was, he wasn't getting any younger. He reached up and pulled one of his muddy curls out to full length. The years were creeping into his bones just like the silver was creeping into his hair. He chuckled as he released it, remembering the brash young man he'd once been. He'd been so sure of himself – so sure he wanted to be a farmer. That cocky young man had a vision. He pictured himself standing in his fields, the grain sproutin' knee-high before his eyes; his crops bountiful enough to feed his family and maybe the entire settlement as well. He'd walk through them, bendin' low here and there, crushing the grain in his fingers and – like the Lord above – pronouncing it 'good'. Then, by some miracle, the grain was harvested and his wagons were full and he was on his way to town. The coins would jingle and lay heavy in his pocket until he spent them. He'd buy his pretty wife everythin' she wanted and nothin' she needed. He'd come home and rain presents on her with the bounty of a spring shower and get hugs and kisses in return.
The curly-haired man frowned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given Caroline more than a peck on the cheek.
The trouble was, there was always something to do. He got up with the sun and just as like went down with it. His wife did the same. He had the care of the land and animals. She had the more important job, which was tendin' to their home and bringing their girls up in the fear of the Lord. God had blessed them with three beauties, but they were a handful . Charles grinned. Especially that middle one. Half-pint had inherited his ornery streak and Caroline's stubbornness and that was a combination that put the fear of God in him! Laura was a good girl, but it took every ounce of strength they had – and most of their time – to keep up with her.
By the end of the day both of them were thankful and exhausted and that didn't leave much time – or energy – for anything more than a peck on the cheek.
Charles rose slowly and realized he'd stayed seated too long. He actually limped as he started forward. That bath was callin' him and so was his bed – and in that order. He'd been in a good many fights, more when he was a young man than now, but he never remembered feelin' so pummeled and poleaxed.
A good night's sleep. Yeah, that's what he needed.
oooooooooo
Night had fallen by the time Charles entered the yard. Mary and Laura were finishin' up their chores. Both of them took one look at him and screamed.
He hoped they were joshin'.
Caroline was taking clothes down from the line. She looked at him, pursed her lips and shook her head, and pointed toward the barn.
Carrie wrinkled her nose and pronounced everyone's verdict.
"Pee -yew, Papa!" she said.
Now, he wanted to see the barn again just about as much as he wanted to see Harriet Oleson in her drawers, but he knew his wife, and he knew goin' into the house in the state he was in would most likely set off another civil war.
"I'll get the girls into bed," Caroline said. "You get a fire going so we can heat the water." His beautiful wife scowled. "I don't suppose I have time to make up a new batch of lye soap…."
Like any good husband, he did what he was told.
The tub they had right now was a big one. The old one had rusted through and he'd got this one from a farmer who'd given up after the tornado the year before – just like he'd almost done. It was for watering livestock and was a good four feet in diameter. It already had clean water in it. He'd done that in the morning. It was about half full and he figured, once the water in the buckets was boiling, they could fill it fast enough. It might be warm instead of hot, but it would do. Charles looked down at the exposed area of skin on his chest. It was as dark as his hair.
Come to think of it, he might just need to be boiled and peeled.
After starting a fire and placing several buckets of water on or near it, the curly-haired man walked to the barn doors and opened them wide. Just like he expected, his oldest girls were hangin' out of the upstairs window wavin' like they saw a hero at a parade. He waved back and blew them kisses and promised he'd come up and give each of them a real one on the cheek once he didn't reek like a cesspool.
Not that he used that word.
Charles listened to his wife tellin' the girls it was 'lights out' and watched the oil lamp do just that before moving back into the barn. Again, he sat down. He was tired and it took strength to take a bath. A couple of minutes later he started to unbutton his grubby shirt.
"Here, let me do that," Caroline said as she arrived.
"You sure move fast for a woman who's got a few years on her," he said with a wink.
"No, I don't, old man. You move like a snail." Caroline paused with her fingers on the third button. "Charles, whatever were you doing today?"
He glanced at his muddy arms that were now partially revealed – the top half still winter white. "Takin' a mud bath. I heard it's good for the skin."
She laughed as she pulled his shirt out of his pants and proceeded to unbutton the last button. "Stand up. I'll help you get out of this."
He looked up, bushed and beat. "Do I have to? Can't I take the bath in my clothes?"
His wife looked at him with sympathy. "Well, it would save me some time if I could wash both you and them at the same time."
"It's a deal," he said as he rose and headed for the tub leaving his shirt in his wife's hands.
Caroline rolled her eyes. "Charles, come back here. You need to get out of those trousers. You get into the water with them on and it's going to turn black."
He looked down and saw she was right.
And sighed again.
"Come here," his wife said with a smile. When he complied, she unhooked his suspenders and went for the buttons on his fall-front pants. There were a lot of them. "Now, shinny out of those filthy things – and your drawers too. My goodness, Charles! I may have to dye them brown!"
He hesitated.
And he didn't know why.
They'd been married nigh onto eleven years and known each other a year or two more. And while they hadn't known each other in the Biblical sense until they were married, they'd explored one another's bodies and found pleasure. Once they'd wed, it had been nothin' to wake and rise in the morning light wearing nothin' on but your skin. Since the girls had been born, they'd been more concerned with modesty. It wouldn't do for Pa to walk around the house in his natal suit. So the night shirt went on and only came off under the covers.
Charles tried to remember the last time he'd undressed in front of his wife and couldn't.
He was getting old.
"Well?" Caroline asked.
The curly-haired man raised his eyebrows and dropped his drawers.
His wife gave him an assessing look. He wasn't sure if she was pleased with what she saw or not. "I'll get the water while you get into the tub," she said.
Dismissed, he promptly obeyed.
The water felt good, even though it was tepid. A moment later it heated up as his wife dumped the first of three boiling bucket loads into it. She'd brought several bars of soap and a load of clean towels with her and set to scrubbing him without a word. Caroline's hands were soft in spite of all the hard work she had to do. She had a secret that had something to do with goat's milk. Charles closed his eyes and leaned back as his wife ran the bar of soap along his back and followed it with her hands, pushing the suds aside. She worked quietly, humming as she did, until most of the dirt was in the water instead of on him. After washing his hair as well, she returned to the fire and caught up the bucket she'd left to the side. This she poured over him to rinse away the remainder of the soap.
He let out a final sigh.
He felt human again.
"Oh, dear!" Caroline exclaimed as she stood beside the tub.
Charles looked at her. "What is it?"
She frowned. "There's a bar of soap left. I must have missed something."
"I don't think so," he replied. "Seems to me you got just about everythin' I got."
Caroline shook her head. "Not…everything."
He was mighty puzzled – and grew even more puzzled as his wife began unbuttoning her blouse. She let it drop to the floor, where it was quickly followed by her skirt and underpinnings. Finally, Caroline reached up and pulled the pin from her hair and let the golden mass cascade over her bare shoulders. A slight smile lifted the corners of her lips as she stepped up to the tub – and then stepped into it. Caroline lowered her naked body into the water; one leg to each side of him. Her breasts brushed his chest as she leaned in and kissed him on the lips. She sighed with contentment as her arms circled his waist and she laid her forehead on his shoulder; her long wet hair tickling his skin. Charles waited a moment and then took her chin in his fingers and lifted her head so she could look into his eyes.
"You forgot the soap," he said as he kissed her neck.
"I did, didn't I?" she sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just have to find something else to do."
And he though the water had heated up before!
oooooooooo
Later that night, as he sat on the edge of the bed beside his sleeping wife, Charles Ingalls considered his life. While the crops didn't magically harvest themselves and he seldom had a single coin in his pocket, he knew he was truly blessed. He'd just come down from the loft where he'd kissed his two older girls goodnight after spendin' some time with his youngest, reading her a bedtime story. He had a safe warm place to live, food in his belly, and felt satisfied, which was more than a lot of men could say. And he had Caroline.
Yes, he was blessed indeed.
Reaching out, Charles' brushed a lock of silken hair back from her face.
Caroline stirred at his touch. She turned toward him and let out a little gasp. "Charles! What in the world are you thinking? What if the girls should wake?!"
Yep. He was buck naked.
"I guess they'll know what a strong, handsome Pa they have," he answered with a grin.
"Where's your night shirt?"
The grin widened as he reached out to undo the first button on her gown.
"It's in the wash."