The Gatherers by Marla Fair – Chapter three
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Tears entered Caroline's eyes when she found them in the morning – Laura and her pa – sleeping side by side. Charles has his arm around their little girl. Laura was pressed up against him and was smiling.
It made her wonder what had happened during the night.
The blonde woman rose from her bedding and moved quietly through the camp, lest she disturb them. Nature called and she went looking for a safe place to relieve herself that was out of sight. There was a brace of trees nearby – no more than twenty feet away – so she headed there. The morning was beautiful. It was late October and the air was as crisp as the fallen leaves under her feet. The sky was a brilliant blue and the trees wore their autumn coats of bright yellow, burnt orange, and the most beautiful crimson red. As she walked a scripture came to mind. It was from the latter part of Job where God confronts the righteous man's indignation with what He has done.
'But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee. Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee, and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee. Who knoweth not in all these that the hand of the Lord hath wrought this? In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind.'
The verse was as magnificent as the day.
She'd reached the trees and stepped in and begun to go about her business when she heard something. Caroline stopped what she was doing to listen. After a full minute, she decided she'd been hearing things and finished. Then, just as she left the trees, unexpected birdsong broke out. The blonde woman halted and turned back. There were two birds, calling to one another. She didn't recognize the species, but then, she'd never been in this part of the country before. The sound they made was kik-kik-kik.
With a shrug, she returned to the camp.
Charles was up by the time she got back. Typical of her husband, he'd already set about doing the necessary chores. The man never stopped working! He glanced at her and nodded back to where Laura lay sleeping. Then he raised a finger to his lips. She smiled in return and began to prepare breakfast – as quietly as she could.
Laura woke about a half-hour later and everything went full-speed from there.
The path they traveled would soon differ from the one Charles and Laura had taken the year before. So far they'd followed in their footsteps, but soon – her husband said it would be around midday – they would change course. Charles wanted to use the wagon as long as he could. They had the packhorses, and he intended that she and Laura ride while he walked the last few strenuous miles. Sam Shelby's cabin sat high on a ridge and there was simply no other way to get there. She had a picture of it in her mind, formed from her husband and daughter's words. It was primitive, something like their first house had been, with a dirt floor and tree trunks for walls. The cabin itself consisted of a common area that included a sitting room, kitchen, and bed. There was an attached porch 'dripping' with antlers, as Laura put it, and several rough outbuildings without walls. Charles had asked Ben about his mother, who was deceased. The young man told him that she'd died of a fever shortly after he'd been born and it had been him and his father ever since. No wonder they still had a dirt floor! Men had no mind for such things.
Caroline was jolted out of her reverie when Charles pulled back on the reins and called the team to a halt. They rolled on for a moment before coming to a stop. Once the wagon had settled, Laura rose and came to the front.
"What're we stopping for, Pa?" she asked.
Her father turned to look at her. "You and me. We got some sight-seein' to do."
Laura's brow furrowed. "What for?"
She had an idea, but said nothing. Charles had mentioned this slight 'detour' when they were planning the trip.
"C'mon, Half-pint," he said as he offered her a hand.
The little girl took hold of it and jumped out of the wagon. As they began to walk, Charles called over his shoulder, "You can come too, Missus Ingalls, if you want."
She hadn't been sure he would want her along. "All right," she said. "I have a couple of things to do first. I'll be there in a few minutes."
That way, father and daughter could have some time to come to grips with what they were about to see.
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Charles held his daughter's hand tightly as they advanced into the woods. They were coming to the spot from a different angle, so Laura hadn't yet recognized the terrain. The little creek runnin' beside them was just a creek. The trees like any other trees. The first sign he had that she understood where they were came as they topped a small ridge and her fingers clutched his more tightly.
Then she pulled away.
"No, Pa." She shook her head. "No. I…can't."
He pursed his lips. "Half-pint, do you remember what I told you about facin' your fears?"
Laura took a step back. "Not…this. I…can't go there. Please, Pa, don't make me!"
Her voice had risen to the point where it was almost hysterical. Charles held still and spoke quietly.
"I know you keep seein' it happen in your head. That gun fallin' – me, fallin'. It's like what I told you. You got a sort of moving picture book up here." He tapped her forehead. "It ain't unrollin' like it should. It's stuck on one page. Now, if you ask me, seein' that page – that place again, as it is – is gonna help you move on to the end."
Tears streamed down his daughter's cheeks. "Do…do you have a picture book too, Pa?"
He did. There wasn't much in it but pain, but it wasn't the cause of that pain that he saw. It was his child leaning over him – horrified, terrified – holding his hand and thinkin' he was going to die and she was to blame. His worst fear had been that he would pass right on the spot, leavin' her alone to bear both the grief and the guilt.
"Pa?"
Charles shook himself. "Yes, darlin', I do. I think I need this as much as you."
Laura sniffed. She looked ahead and then back at him before holding out her hand. "Okay, Pa. Let's do it."
"You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
Charles took her hand. "All right then. Here we go."
They walked slowly, passing the head of the path they'd taken the last time, and continuing on until the tree he had so foolishly anchored his loaded gun against came into view. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. He knew what you did with a gun. Maybe it was having Laura along – not that she was bad luck, but that his mind was on her instead of what he was doing. Then again, like he'd told her when he was layin' on the side of the ridge bleedin' out, sometimes these things were meant to be. It wasn't like God didn't know he had her along. In fact, Caroline giving in had been a surprise to him. She'd told him later it had kind of been a surprise to her too.
The little girl whose hand he held had grown up an awful lot in the last year.
Laura halted. "This is close enough, Pa," she said, her voice robbed of strength.
"No, it's not. You trust me?"
She drew a deep breath and nodded.
And on they went.
When he reached the point where he'd been sitting when the ball hit him, Charles stopped and sat down. A gesture brought Laura to his lap. They sat there for some time, saying nothing as the leaves rustled and fell about them and migrating birds winged over head.
Finally he spoke. "What are you feeling, Half-pint?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess…. Well, it's so peaceful and pretty. I didn't remember that. Every time I think of it all I can see is…."
He saw it too. Him, lying a few feet below where they were, covered in blood.
"I want you to draw a brand new picture," he said. "One of you and me sitting here now. Enjoyin' the sunshine. Listenin' to the birds. Safe. This is the end of your book, Half-pint."
"I sure like books with happy endings," she sighed.
Charles pulled his child in and wrapped his arms around her.
"Don't we all."
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She found Charles and Laura, sitting together at the edge of a creek about ten feet down from the top of the ridge. Caroline approached quietly, not wanting to disturb them. When she finished her descent Charles turned and looked at her.
"You would have made a pretty sorry Indian," he said with a grin.
"Hi, Ma," Laura said. "Come and sit with us."
It was a beautiful spot, with the water trickling in a small band through tumbles of rock and tall grasses. From what she understood, this area was where Laura and her pa had camped the year before. Charles said it was one of his favorite places – or had been before the accident. For her husband, it was not so much the memory of what had happened that haunted him, but of what it had cost their child. Laura was too young to face the reality of death. It had changed her. Mary was the thinker, but for the last year she had often found Laura sitting alone, staring out the window or into the distance. In the beginning, the little girl had pulled away from Charles, almost as if she feared she would hurt him again. Nothing they said worked. Like her father, Laura felt things deeply. She had the same inborn sense of responsibility, which translated into deep-seeded guilt.
She wondered if Charles little 'detour' had had the desired effect.
Her handsome husband took her hand and helped over a few rough spots. He waited until she was seated and then sat beside her. Laura was between them.
"It's beautiful here," she said when neither of them said anything.
Charles nodded.
Laura looked less than impressed.
"Did I say something wrong?"
Her child looked at her; her young eyes wide with something only she could see. "This is where…" She swallowed hard. "This is where Pa fell when he was shot."
Oh dear!
"Charles?"
"I was layin' right there," he nodded toward a clump of rocks and grass next to the water.
"Pa fell all the way down," Laura said, her voice hushed. "He landed in the rocks. He had…."
"Go on," the child's father urged gently.
"He had blood all over him! Oh, Ma!" Laura turned and hugged her like there was no tomorrow. "I thought he was dead!"
Charles met her gaze. 'I'll leave you two alone', he mouthed and then rose to his feet. Touching Laura's head, he said, "Half-pint, I'm gonna go check on the horses. You and your ma come when you're ready."
She watched him go and then turned back to the weeping girl in her arms. "Laura?"
Her child sniffed. She didn't look up. "What?"
"Can I tell you a story?"
Laura sat up. She wiped her tears away with the back of her sleeve and sniffed. "What kind of a story?"
"Come here and sit against me." When the little girl had settled, she began. "When I was just about your age, my older sister Martha made me mad. I was working on a pin cushion and, because I was going to get to go visit our aunt instead of her – she had to stay home and help our mother – she took the pin cushion and threw it in the fire. Ma didn't do anything about it, and that made me even more mad."
She knew Laura would relate. She and Mary had their own tiffs.
"So what happened?"
"I decided to get back at her." She still felt the sting of her mother's inaction and her seemingly righteous anger. "We had a loose step in the ice house. It wobbled when you stepped on it. One of Martha's chores was to get the ice. I slipped out that night and went and took the last two nails out of the board."
"Gosh! That's awful. Did Martha fall when she went to get the ice?"
Caroline shook her head. "My Pa did. He went out early in the morning to check the supply. The board flew out from under his foot and he fell all the way to the bottom. When Martha found him, his leg was broken and bleeding."
Laura's eyes were huge. "Did you fess up?"
She chuckled at the word. "Yes, I fessed up. Two days later."
"I bet you got a lickin' you never forgot!"
It amazed her still, the way her father had handled it. "No. I got in trouble, but I didn't get a licking."
"How come?"
She'd had to do as many of her pa's chores as she could, and some of Martha's as well. She also had to apologize to her sister, which was the hardest thing of all.
"I was a lot like you, Laura, and my parents knew I was being harder on myself than they could ever be. The worst thing I had to do was go into that ice house and fetch the ice. One of our neighbors fixed the step, but every time my foot hit that new board, it was like a dagger went through me."
"Kind of like me comin' here."
Caroline nodded. "One day my father took me by the hand and led me to the ice house. I fought like a tiger, but he was strong like your pa. We went down the stair and he made me sit on that new board. 'Caroline,' he said. 'Why do you think I brought you here?'" She chuckled. "I wanted to say 'to torture me', but I didn't! Instead, I said, 'I don't know.' Pa stretched his leg out and patted it. 'This is good as new, just like that step. Your ma and I have forgiven you. So has your sister. It's done…everywhere but in here.' And with that, he tapped my chest."
Laura was listening intently. "Pa said my mind's like a moving picture book, only it's stuck. Is that what your pa meant?"
The blonde woman nodded. "Yes. All I had been able to see for months was Pa's foot hitting that step and him falling to the bottom. He wanted me to see something else – that he loved me and forgave me." She looked directly at her child. "Do you understand?"
Laura's gaze returned to the creek. She stared at it for a moment and then closed her eyes. "Pa said I should see us sittin' here instead of him lying there dying."
Caroline sucked in a breath. It had been so close.
"Yes. Do you think you can do that now?"
There were no more tears. Laura was smiling.
"Sure thing, Ma!"
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To be continued…..