EIGHT

Caroline stood with the girls waving goodbye to Isaiah Edwards. Their friend had insisted on bringing them home even though he was dead tired and had to be on the road fairly early the next morning. He was taking a run to Sleepy Eye for the mill. Isaiah tried to talk her into letting him deliver them to the door, but she had insisted they could walk the last hundred or so yards from the road to the house by themselves so he could get going. Mary had her little sister in her arms. Carrie was nearly asleep. Laura was lagging behind, her eyes to the sky, commenting on how beautiful it was with the stars twinkling and the moon shining bright. Caroline's mind was on other things. She wondered what had transpired between Charles and Joe. She knew her husband intended to talk to the Joe as they worked and she hoped he'd made some progress.

The poor man was a misery to himself.

"Ma," Mary said, drawing her attention. "How come there aren't any lights in the house?"

Caroline halted. "What?"

Mary nodded toward the wooden building, standing in silhouette in the distance. "Was Pa going somewhere?"

When she looked, she realized her oldest was correct. The house was dark. A quick glance at the barn told her it was the same.

Would Charles be working without any light?

"Maybe your father is in the field," she said. "There's enough moonlight."

Mary shrugged. "I guess so. And I guess Joe could be asleep."

"That's right," she sighed with relief. It made sense. Turning back to her straggler, she said, "Laura, get a lantern from the barn and go see if you can find your father. I'm going to take Carrie inside and put her to bed." As she accepted her youngest from her oldest, she added, "Mary, you go with Laura. I'll feel better with two of you wandering around in the dark than one."

"Sure thing, Ma," Mary said as they made the transfer.

Once in her arms, Carrie snuggled up against her. Caroline breathed in the scent of the little girl, which was a mix of soap, sweetness, and sugar from the cookies she'd eaten at the Edwards. These were the times when she felt most deeply all the Lord had done for her. A lovely home to return to. The man she loved working to keep it. Her children's love.

"What more could a woman want?" she sighed softly as she headed for the door.

Caroline was reaching for the latch when she stopped. The blonde woman turned and frowned. She'd heard a sound. Something or someone whimpering. Moving into the yard, she listened. It took a moment but she finally recognized it as Jack. Not only did the dog sound unhappy, it sounded like he was closed in somewhere.

Now why would Charles have confined him...

"Ma!"

It was Mary. She turned toward her. "Yes?"

"Pa's not in the field."

Laura came to a halt beside her. As usual, her hasty one was out of breath. "I ran most all the field, Ma. He's not there."

Caroline's heart thumped hard in her chest. Something was wrong. It was hard to explain it why, but she knew it. Their yard, their fields, their home, they all felt...empty.

"Where do you think Pa is, Ma?"

There was one hope yet – that Charles was in the house with Joe. Maybe he'd talked to the wounded man and they'd both been so worn out that they'd called it a night. Caroline clung to that thought as she returned to the stoop. Mary and Laura trailed close behind her.

"Ma."

It was a single word Mary spoke and it stabbed her like a knife.

"Yes?" she asked, trembling.

"What's that?"

Her oldest was pointing down. There was something dark on the ground. It trailed up onto the stoop and went right up to the door.

"Mary, come take your sister."

The blonde girl came and did as she was told. Laura stood at her side. Caroline smiled at them – a reassuring smile, she hoped – and then knelt and placed her finger in the dark substance. Lifting it to her lips, she tasted it.

Blood.

Rising, she stood there, unsure of what to do. It was apparent someone or something had been dragged into the house and who or whatever it was, had been bleeding. Caroline glanced at her girls. What would she find when she opened the door? What was it they would see?

"Take your sisters and go see if you can find Jack. It sounds like he's been caged somewhere," she told Mary.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And Mary?"

The blonde girl turned back to look at her.

"Stay outside until I tell you to come in."

Her daughter's expression said it all, but she listened and obeyed. Laura paused before trailing after her. "You want me to come in with you, Ma?"

She touched her head. "No. Go with your sister."

"Do you think... Do you think something's happened to Joe...or to Pa?"

All of her own fears were reflected in the little girl's eyes. "Go with you sister."

Laura looked at the door and then back at her. "Yes, ma'am," she said and was gone.

Caroline stood with her hand on the door latch, gathering courage and strength, and then opened it and went inside. The house was pitch-black. No lamp was lit. There was no fire. The only light came from the moon shining through the windows.

"Charles?" she called as she stepped inside. "Charles are you here?"

As she moved toward the interior, she felt her shoes slip as they encountered more of the sticky substance on the floor. The blonde woman's breath was coming fast. She felt like she was in a dream.

"Charles?"

A second later her foot struck something soft laying in her path. She knelt down and felt about with her hands. It was a man. He had fallen on his back with his head toward the wall and his feet near the table. Kneeling, she reached for his head and gasped as her hands encountered a mass of thick sweat-soaked curls.

Caroline swallowed. "Charles?"

A moan answered her. Small. Weak.

Still, it meant he was alive.

"Charles?"

A hand gripped hers. A man spoke. "Took...him."

She recognized the timbre. It wasn't her husband. "Joe?"

He grunted as he shifted. "Yes..."

The blonde woman placed a hand on his face. "Joe, what happened? Where's Charles?"

"Don't...know. Men took...him." He drew a ragged breath. "Thought he...was me."

"What?"

Joe tried to sit up. She hesitated and then helped him, pulling him up by his good arm and propping him against one of the chairs butted up against the table. As he leaned his head back, Joe sighed.

"I don't know who...they were. They were...looking for me. They thought Charles was me."

"But why?" Then she had it. Looking at him, sitting there, with the moonlight striking that gray hair, she realized that anyone who saw the two of them together from a distance – who knew Joe was younger – would assume that Joe Cartwright was the one with dark brown hair.

Fear for her husband brought tears to her eyes. "Who would be after you? Who would know you were here?" Her jaw tightened. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

"No. But there was something familiar about that blond man." He licked his lips. "My head hurts... Can't place it."

She'd been so worried about Charles she'd forgotten Joe had been injured again. After all, she'd followed a trail of blood leading into the house.

"Where are you hurt?" she asked.

"Hit me with a rifle butt," he said. "Got a monumental headache. Blood's from the leg. It's bleeding again."

"Ma? Can we come in?"

Caroline pivoted toward the door. She'd forgotten about the girls. Turning back to Joe, she asked, "Can you get up?"

His eyes followed her gaze. She could see he didn't want to frighten the girls anymore than he had to. "What are you gonna tell them?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Joe was silent a moment. "I'm sorry I brought this on you."

"You didn't. You don't even know what it's about." Caroline took hold of his right arm again. "See if you can stand."

The wounded man sucked in air as he rose and let her lead him to the chair before the hearth. As she started to walk away, he caught her hand. "Caroline, the man who...took Charles. He said I'd sent him to Hell and he was here to repay me. He knew me. If I could just place him..."

Here to 'repay' him. God, Caroline prayed, protect Charles!

"Ma?"

"Just a minute, Mary!" she called back. Grabbing a blanket, she tucked it around Joe. She'd get a fire going as soon as she got the girls settled and then see to that leg.

Crossing to the door, Caroline drew a steadying breath and then stepped outside.

Her daughters saw it instantly. Written in her face.

"Has something happened to Pa?" Laura asked, her little voice shaking.

She wanted to lie. She was going to lie.

Looking at that small frightened face, she couldn't lie.

"Yes," she breathed.

Both girls stared at her. After a second, Mary said, "I'll put Carrie in bed, Ma."

Caroline nodded. "Thank you."

As Mary disappeared inside, Laura came up to her and put her arms around her and held her. She didn't say a word. They stood there together, staring into the darkness, imagining the worst.

And praying for the best.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Charles awoke bound and gagged in the back of a wagon that was jostling over uneven ground. His head ached and he could taste blood, so he knew the blow he had taken from the pistol had broken the skin. He couldn't tell if his eyesight was clear, so he had no way of knowing if he had a concussion, though the excessive ringing in his ears and the fact that he felt dizzy sort of made him figure he did. At least a light one. As he lay there, not knowing where he was going or who it was that had taken him, he thought back to the words that had been spoken when he and Joe had stepped outside of the barn.

Don't pretend you don't know me, Cartwright. You sent me to Hell and I'm here to return the favor.

Whoever it was had him, thought he was Joe Cartwright. There was no mistaking the resemblance and all he could figure was that, even though he was six or seven years older, with his dark hair he looked younger. There was also something that had gone out of Joe, that spark of life that told you a man had dreams and was bound and determined to make them happen. Even giving it that six or seven years, in some ways Joe looked like a man ready for the end.

Charles shifted and regretted it as the right side of his head came into contact with the wagon bed. The boards weren't clean and he could feel dirt and straw and everything else that came with it grinding into the wound. A paper cut could kill a man if it wasn't taken care of and any infection halted before it was begun. He couldn't afford to be fevered.

He needed his wits about him if he was going to come out of this alive.

Suddenly, the wagon jolted to a stop.

Charles closed his eyes and feigned unconsciousness. He'd been hit hard enough no one would suspect he was awake yet. He felt a cool breeze with a hint of rain in it waft over him as the tarp covering the wagon came away, bringing welcome relief. It had been stifling before. There was also a hint of sunrise in it, so it seemed they 'd traveled most of the night.

"Help me get him out!" a sharp voice ordered. He thought it was the man who had hit him. He'd caught a glimpse of the one behind Joe, but only a glimpse. He seemed younger. Frightened. Unsure.

Not this one.

Charles bit his tongue as the pair grabbed him and roughly hauled him out of the wagon and pain exploded in his head. He fought giving any reaction and succeeded, even though they dropped him like a feed sack to the ground a few seconds later. He lay there, not knowing what to expect. The kick in the ribs came as no surprise. Nor did the foot shoving him over onto his back.

Whoever this man was, he hated Joe.

"Leave him alone, Dave," the younger man said. "He'll come 'round soon enough."

"Can't be soon enough for me, Clayton. I've been waitin' to settle up with Mister high-and-mighty Joseph Cartwright for twelve long years."

There was a pause, then Clayton asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

"Now don't you pay no nevermind to that, boy," Dave drawled. Charles felt fingers clutch his hair and his head was roughly lifted up. "Soon as Mister Cartwright here comes around we're gonna have us a nice long talk. Why, we used to be friends. I knew him back when he was a skinny good-for-nothing snot-nosed brown-haired kid. We got us a lot of catchin' up to do." The man shoved his head down hard. Charles bit back a moan as he hit the dirt. He heard the blond kneel at his side. "Ain't it a shame, the one who says he'll never let you fall, is the one who ends up pushin' you off your feet in the end." The man leaned in. His breath tickled Charles' ear. "You're a dead man, Cartwright. Only I'm gonna surprise you like you surprised me when you fired me. You ain't gonna know when or how it's gonna come."

Dave stood. "You can just be sure it is gonna come."

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The night was the most agonizing she had spent in her entire life. It had been just as terrible when Freddie was ill, but she had had Charles at her side.

This time, she was alone.

She didn't know a wink of sleep. Carrie had been crying for her pa. Poor thing, even though she didn't understand what was happening, she knew something was wrong. Mary had taken charge of her and the two of them had finally fallen asleep together in Carrie's room. Laura kept vigil with her for some time, her little hands wedded together, her lips moving in prayer, before falling asleep on a blanket she had spread for her on the floor. All the time Joe Cartwright sat unmoving before the fire, his handsome and determined face turned toward the door. He had asked for one of Charles' guns and sat with the rifle over his knees, keeping a constant vigil, his head nodding from time to time but almost always jerking up just as quickly to show he was awake. She'd cleaned Joe's wound and wrapped a new bandage around his thigh. He had refused one for his head. His jaw set, nostrils flared and eyes blazing, he'd insisted he was 'all right' and that she should 'stop fussing'. It seemed impossible, but the man might be even more stubborn than Charles.

Charles.

"Oh, dear Lord," she whispered, "Charles, where are you?"

The dawn was breaking outside. She'd considered rousing all the girls and getting into the wagon the minute the light came up and heading for town, but hesitated because she had no idea if the men who had taken Charles might come back. Suppose they discovered their error and came for Joe? Doctor Baker had told her the day before, when they saw him before heading out to the Edwards' place, that he would be coming by today to check his patient at the beginning of his rounds. Hiram should make his appearance any time. Stretching wearily Caroline rose from her chair and, with a glance at Laura who was still sleeping, crossed to the window and looked out.

She heard Joe slowly rise. He came to her side, caught her eye, and then opened and limped out the door.

Caroline followed.

Joe halted at the edge of the porch. He was looking at the barn. When he said nothing, she did.

"Did you want something, Joe?"

The young man flinched. His jaw tightened as he turned to look at her. There were tears in his green eyes, but the look out of them was resolute.

"I'm going after him."

"Joe, no. You can't. You're hurt. Doctor Baker will be here soon and – "

"I can ride a horse. I'll take one of yours."

"You'll kill yourself."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Don't you understand? If I don't find Dave Donavan and make him understand that it's me he wants, your husband is dead!"

"Dave Donavan?" Last night Joe had had no idea who the man was. "You remembered?"

He nodded slowly. "It took a while. I had to wait for my head to clear. I got a look at him when..." Joe hesitated. "When he struck Charles."

She'd blanched. "Who is he? Why does he hate you so?"

Joe snorted. Chagrin curled his lips into a sad sort of smile. "We were friends once. My pa said Dave was the 'wrong kind of man'. I wouldn't listen." He ran the back of his hand along his mouth and then shook his head. "Pa was right, of course. I'd hired Dave on as a foreman. All he did was undermine me as boss and drink and carouse with his friends. I fired him."

She sensed there was more. "And?"

Joe faced her. "After I did he used dynamite to blow up the log flume we were building to stop work and then..."

Her hand went to her throat. "Then...?"

"He tried to kill me with his bare hands."

"Dear Lord." What kind of monster was it that had Charles?

"My testimony sent him to prison for five years. Will Poavey was the one who hired Dave to destroy the flume. I'd heard Will took Dave back on when he got out of prison."

"But why would he be here? How would he have known you were here?"

Joe scowled. "I've been considering that. I'm thinkin' Will Poavey saw my name on the list of men attending the meeting in La Crosse. He probably figured we were lookin' at doing business with the railroads and the others who need lumber in the East." He shook his head. "Knowing Will, he hired Dave to rough me up and send Pa a message that he should stay out of it."

"Then you think they'll just...rough Charles up?" There was hope in that.

The look in Joe's eyes dispelled it quickly. "If it was just Will, yeah. Poavey's dirty, but murder is dirtier than he gets. Interfering with a man's business, even roughing him up, might mean prison. Murder means a hangin' tree." He paused. "The trouble is I don't think Dave cares. His hate's all he's got left."

Her emotions were wild. Terror for her husband was at war with a growing affection for this sad young man. She reached out and touched his arm.

"Joe, I don't want to see you killed either."

That surprised him. She saw it in the deep familiar green eyes. "Why? I haven't brought you anything but trouble."

Caroline held his gaze. She knew what his answer would be. "Do you believe in Divine providence, Joe?"

She might have slapped him.

When he didn't reply, she went on. "Well, I do. I believe you came into our lives for a reason."

"So your husband could be kidnapped and killed!" he snapped.

She fought her own fear to continue. "God will look out for Charles."

He scoffed. "Like He looked out for my wife? You call letting a pregnant woman be murdered and her body burn with a baby in it 'looking out'?"

She steadied herself and did not turn away from his harsh stare. "Yes. Joe, we live in a fallen world. If God prevented every wrong, it would be Heaven. But even when it seems that evil has triumphed, God uses that to the good."

There were tears streaming down his cheeks. "How?" he pleaded. "How? What good can come of a thing like that?"

She moved closer to him. "I don't know. I only trust and believe. Charles and I we...we lost a little boy last year."

"Charles told me."

"It was hard. I...faltered. Charles never did." She drew a breath. "Oh, he was angry. He wrestled with God. But you know, Joe, there is nothing wrong with that."

He spoke through clenched teeth. "My pa always told me you have to accept what God does without question."

"I am sure your father is a wonderful man. After all," she said with a smile, "you are his son. Maybe that's the way he had believe to make it through his own trials. But Joe, just because you question doesn't mean you have lost your faith. I am sure you know the story of Job."

"God took everything away and Job was just fine with it," he spat. "Yeah, I know. I've had it quoted to me a hundred times by preachers and just about everyone else."

"Then they are being like Job's false friends. That's not the point. Job was not 'fine with it'. Job was angry, he was defiant, he was..." She laughed. "A lot like you. In chapter thirteen it says, 'Though he slay me, yet will I trust in Him: but I will maintain mine own ways before Him'. Joe, God wept just as deeply as you when Alice and your child died. It was evil men who did it. But He will take that evil and make you a better man for it if you will only ask Him to do so. God loves you so deeply. He weeps for you." Her hand went to his cheek. "Alice weeps for you too. She's waiting for you, Joe, just as," she drew a breath, "Charles will be for me if God decides this is his time."

He was staring at her, the look on his face unreadable, when she heard the sound of buggy wheels coming down the road.

"Hiram," she said, turning toward it. "Thank God!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lemuel Perkins was a busy man. He stared at the old geezer with snow-white hair and the red-headed boy before him, wondering what sin he'd committed that had landed them in his telegraph office at the end of the day. The old man was pacing, waiting for an answer to the message he had sent to a man named Jacobs in La Crosse, Minnesota, and expecting to get it before their train left at eight o'clock. The young one was following him around like a lost puppy. Lemuel glanced at the clock on the wall above the desk. It was five-thirty and high time for the Rawlings, Wyoming office to close. He had a plump wife and an even plumper apple pie waiting for him at home. It had been a hard day what with all the messages flying right and left about the Indians Wars, Boss Tweed's latest adventure, and the Wyoming cattle boom. Why, there'd hardly been time for that message Mister Cartwright wrote to be sent, let alone a chance for an answer to come through! He'd told the him to go to the train station and tell them he needed a ticket for tomorrow, and then to get a hotel room for the night. That old man, he was quick. Lemuel straightened his tie and swallowed.

For a minute, he'd thought he was going to choke him.

As the clock struck five-thirty-one Ben Cartwright stopped and looked at it. Then he looked at him, as if he could will the telegraphy key to start ticking that instant.

Lemuel let out a low whistle.

Danged, if it didn't!

"Is that for me?" the old man demanded as he came to the desk.

"Give me a minute," Lemuel said, listening and reaching for his pencil. That kid on the other end of the line in La Crosse was quicker on the ticker than a bear running from a bunch of mad honey bees. He had to ask him to repeat the message and that just about sent the old man into an apoplectic fit. Thos black eyes of his went to the red-headed kid.

He felt sorry for that boy.

"Well?" Cartwright roared when he put his pencil down.

"There you are, sir," he said, handing it over. "Though I can't say as it makes much sense."

The white-haired man read it. His shoulders slumped. The boy took his arm, spoke a couple of words, and the two left the room.

Lemuel sat there scratching his head. He reread the message before handing it over.

YOU WERE RIGHT. STOP. DONAVAN. STOP. POAVEY. STOP. STOP CARTWRIGHT. STOP. WHATEVER NECESSARY.

He wondered if this Donavan and whoever Joe was were friends. Maybe they'd missed connections somewhere.

Lemuel caught his coat up from the back of the chair and thought again of the geezer who had looked twenty years older when he walked out that door.

Or maybe not.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe listened from inside the barn as Caroline Ingalls' related to Doctor Baker what had happened the night before. It was less than five minutes later that the buggy sped out of the yard at full tilt, headed for Walnut Grove and help. It was three miles to town and three miles back, and it would take the doctor some time to rouse the town this early in the morning and to enlist the aid of the men who populated it. They'd have to gather supplies and ammunition and so much more before they could head out. Most likely it would be at least three, maybe four hours before the search would be underway.

From what he knew of Dave, Charles didn't have that long.

Joe was in the middle of saddling one of the Ingalls's horses when he heard someone come into the barn. He closed his eyes and calmed his temper, thinking it was Caroline coming to lecture him again. But when he turned, it wasn't Charles wife he found.

It was his middle daughter. Laura was standing in the door with a bucket in her hand.

"Ma says..." The little brown-haired girl stopped and swallowed. "Ma says life don't stop cause of trouble and if I don't milk the cow, she's gonna be hurtin'." Laura took a few steps forward. "What are you doing? You ain't leavin', are you?"

He pulled on one of the straps that held the saddle to the plow horse. "I'm going after your pa."

She came right up beside him. "That's what Ma said. She said you're not well enough."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Your leg's bleedin'."

He looked down. So it was.

"It's nothing. I'll be all right."

Laura stared at him for a moment and then, without a word walked over to the cow's stall. She sat the bucket on the ground near the stool and then looked back. "I don't want anything to happen to you either, Joe," she said softly.

He leaned his arm on the worn saddle and closed his eyes.

Was there nothing that would make this family accept the fact that – if there was a God – He'd made a big mistake by landing him on their doorstep?

Joe felt Laura's small hand touch his good leg. He looked down into her upturned face. She was crying.

Not for her pa. For him.

Joe let go of the saddle and slowly slid to the ground, exhausted and willing – with this little one at least – to admit it. Laura knelt beside him and gathered him into her arms. Like her mother, she ran her hand over his head and said in a soft, sincere voice.

"It'll be all right. You'll see. God'll take care of everything."

Joe caught her hand. Kissed it.

And let the tears flow.