Chapter One
If her father had wept upon their leaving, she would have, too. The February air bit at their bare noses and cheeks, and Caroline told herself that was the reason her nose started running when they said their goodbyes in front of the little log cabin she'd called home for the past eight years. Her brother and sisters stood stoically behind their parents, and Caroline smiled reassuringly after embracing her mother. Her body was warm and comforting even in the bitter cold, like a well-loved rocking chair before the hearth. Behind her she heard the jingle of the reins as Charles hitched the team to their covered wagon. It was time to leave this life behind, perhaps forever.
Her two girls, having already said their goodbyes, which had been cheerful and innocent, were already headed toward the wagon. To them, it was a new adventure, which they greeted with excitement. The wide open land of the prairie, like an ocean with nothing but endless skies and gently waving hills, was nothing more than a stretch to run across; grasses to twirl about in, lay back in and guess at the shapes of clouds. It wasn't an often waterless desert, a place with no shelter save the canvas stretched across the wagon, a woodless expanse in the cold months when fire was the only way to stay warm. Their stock of dried meat would only last so long. Charles said they had enough of everything, that they'd be settled in time for summer, that there was no need to worry.
"Come on, Half-pint." Charles lifted Laura into the back of the wagon, where Mary was waiting.
Caroline trudged carefully through the heavy, crunching snowfall Charles said they'd leave behind in two days' time.
"You wanna sit back with the girls?" He watched Caroline wipe her running nose on her sleeve. "It'll be warmer without the wind on your face."
She shook her head no. "I'll be warm beside you, Charles."
He smiled, helping her up. "I'll get you a blanket, at least."
And no more than five minutes later Charles clicked at the horses, flicked the reins, and they were off. Caroline looked back at her family, her parents, the ones who'd raised her to be the strong woman she was today. For strong one has to be, to leave those one loves.
Caroline heard their tin dishes clattering in the wagon as the large wooden wheels rolled over snow-covered tree roots. It was just past dawn, the best time to leave, Charles had insisted, so the day's sunlight could melt and clear the path ahead.
"How's old Jack keepin' up?"
"Just fine, Pa!" Laura called back. "His tail's wagging!" She made her way to the front of the wagon and poked her head out. Caroline was glad to see the headscarf she and her mother had crocheted by the fire still tied securely under the seven year-old's chin. "Will there be other dogs for Jack to play with in Indian Territory, Pa?"
Charles' eyes danced merrily. "Oh, not for awhile yet, Half-Pint. We might have it all to ourselves when we get there. Jack'll have to make friends with the prairie dogs."
"What's a prairie dog?"
He chuckled. "From what I've been told, it's a dog that stands upright on its hind legs so it can see far and wide."
"Like Jack when he's doing tricks?"
Charles nodded. "Hey, you makin' me that map?"
Caroline quirked her head. "What map?"
"Pa wants me to make a map of all the places we've been." She sighed. "But I can't with the wagon bumping around. I'll have to do it when we stop."
"Well, you just concentrate on trying to remember all the woods and thickets we go through, and any streams or rivers we might cross," Charles advised. "I'm countin' on you to get it all down."
"Yes, sir." She retreated back under the canvas cover. "Mary, can you move a little, you're blocking my view."
Caroline chuckled and watched Charles. "A map? All the way from Wisconsin to Indian Territory?"
He shrugged. "It's a way to keep her occupied. That one has more energy than any of us put together, and she'll be stuck in the wagon for months."
"She's your daughter," Caroline joked. A low-hanging bough brushed over the canvas stretched over the wagon, sprinkling snow over their laps.
Caroline had been on plenty of buggy rides, and even rode horseback to fetch the midwife the spring evening when her father was away and her brother was coming early. But none of that compared to hours spent next to Charles as the wagon bumped across the rooted terrain of the forest. Even after the ground finally became level, she felt each jostle against her very bones, her eyes hurt from the bright winter sun flickering through the trees, and she was glad when the light fell, shifting to a warm yellow the shade of a cooked peach.
"Charles, we should set up camp while it's still light," she urged, squeezing his arm. "Maybe light a fire?"
"I want to get just a few more miles in." His voice was patient. "With the snowfall a fire won't do much that crawling under the blankets can't do."
"But the dinner-"
"We'll eat something dry tonight," he said, "and you can cook us something delicious tomorrow when we're out of the woods."
Caroline looked back at the girls, at Mary yawning over her knitting and Laura still looking out of the opening in the tied canvas. "The girls are tired already," she said, keeping her voice low enough so they wouldn't hear, but loud enough to be heard over the wagon wheels. "Maybe it's for the best. You really think we'll be out of the woods by tomorrow?"
"By tomorrow evening, at least. Which is good, because I want to stop and get some more wood. It'll get soaked through when we cross the Mississippi, but it'll dry out before you know it."
A knot tightened in the pit of Caroline's stomach at the thought of crossing the Mississippi. She'd been on its banks when she was a girl, a river she could barely see across. Charles had assured her they'd cross at a thin point, but all she could see in her head was that wide, wide, stretch of rushing crystal waters her own Pa had called "drownin' currents".
When they did make camp, and she had found venison jerky for four mouths, the children were half asleep, and Laura dozed off as Caroline led them both in prayer after dinner. They thanked God for bringing them this far, asked him to bless their family, their traveling tomorrow, and a special word was put in for the watchdog Jack, sleeping curled up beneath the wagon. After the girls were tucked under quilts, wearing knitted slippers to keep their feet warm, Caroline climbed out of the wagon carrying the kerosene lamp to join Charles, who was watering the horses with melted snow. She patted one of their dark flanks, ran a hand along the mare's neck, and was nuzzled in return.
"The girls are asleep," she said quietly. "I don't know how we'll both fit in there with them."
Charles picked up the horses' hooves in turn and scraped the dirt and mud out from around their new shoes.
"We'll fit." He stood, and put an arm around her waist, squeezing lightly. "And soon I'll be able to build you a real bed, and a house with four walls and a roof. Maybe even a window."
Caroline smirked. "We left Pepin this morning, Charles. I think it'll be a good while before I see a real bed again."
He chuckled. "Maybe you're right. Now let's get inside, I don't like seeing you shivering like that."
They climbed back into the wagon, taking care to remove their wet shoes and place them to dry before their feet touched the wagon's floor. Caroline had spread quilts and coats down to form one large cot with the space provided, and as much supplies as could fit in the wash basin, they'd set out on the driving seat to make more room. Charles stripped to his long underwear and Caroline undressed to her chemise before pulling on a long-sleeved nightgown. The flannel was instantly warm, and even more so when she tucked her red shawl around her shoulders. He lowered the lamp, and they were plunged into darkness.
"Don't you be bringing any cold feet into the bed, now," Charles warned, trying to make himself comfortable while she braided her hair in the inky black.
Caroline chuckled. "I won't."
When she'd finished, she made her way carefully into the space Charles had created for her, finding his familiar warmth when her head found his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"I didn't bring you all out here for nothing, Caroline," he said, and she wasn't sure if it was to comfort her or to comfort himself. "Wait 'til you see all the open, untouched land. We'll have a hundred and sixty acres, and grow our own crops, and…"
She touched her fingers to his lips. "I believe you, Charles. I know we will. I pray for it every night."
His work-roughened fingers brushed over the smooth plane of her cheek. "You do?"
She nodded, leaning up to find his mouth in the dark. "Caroline Ingalls, I love you," he said when they broke apart.
"And I love you. But we should get some rest," she whispered. "It's another long day tomorrow."
Days of long, bumpy riding followed, and by the third they emerged from the dense woodlands. Although there were no longer protruding tree roots beneath the wheels, the washbasin still clattered against the wagon as they drove onward, and at the end of each day Caroline's body ached. The jostling of the wagon paired with the bright sun brought a headache each morning that lasted, with varying degrees of intensity, all day long, and the only relief came with sleep. More than once Caroline awoke to find she'd fallen asleep on Charles' shoulder, and it took all the energy she had left to prepare dinner. By the end of the week, she couldn't remain awake even to sit by the campfire Charles had built, lulled to bed by his fiddle-playing.
The girls remained energetic as ever, with Mary only slightly lethargic from the long time spent in the wagon. On fair days, sometimes the girls skipped alongside the wagon, their hair freely flowing behind them, their lungs taking in the fresh, untouched air. At night, Laura drew her map, and Mary reread the small number of books they'd managed to bring along.
At a small outpost they chanced upon, Charles traded their horses, unused to such long journeys, for a team of sturdy ponies. A calm, chestnut mare who would foal before autumn, and a black stallion. Though they were sad to see their well-loved horses go, Laura and Mary named the ponies Patty and Pat. Maybe it was the sight of a new face in the farmer who'd traded the horses, or perhaps it was the ponies themselves that put a new spring in everyone's step after the long days and uncomfortable nights spent in the wagon. Laura and Mary climbed happily back into the wagon, Charles lifted Caroline up, and she arranged her skirts over her muddy shoes once seated.
"Everybody all set back there?" he called.
"Yeah!"
"All right," Charles said, pulling the brake back and urging the ponies on. "Kansas, here we come!"
"Ready or not!" Laura chirped from the back. Caroline and Charles laughed in unison, and the ponies trotted on. Jack followed behind, tail wagging.
"We'll be across the Mississippi by this time tomorrow," Charles said two weeks into the journey, with hills and smatterings of trees before them as far as the eye could see.
Caroline looked up from her crocheting, grateful for the distraction. "So soon?"
"There's a thin crossing in about sixty miles," he said. "We go any further south and the river'll thicken up. With all the snow we've had this year she's bound to be wider as it is."
"How deep is the water? The girls aren't strong swimmers, especially with a current," Caroline reminded him.
"Oh, don't worry about that. None of us will have to swim across. Plenty of settlers have crossed, I wouldn't be surprised if we start seeing wagon tracks where the others have gone through." He looked at her, took her hand to squeeze it reassuringly. His brow knit with worry. "You look pale."
"I'm all right, Charles," she insisted. "Just a little tired, that's all."
He pulled on the reins, stopping the horses. "Why don't you go lie down in the wagon. It'll be more comfortable than my shoulder up here."
She raised an eyebrow. "Will it?"
He chuckled. "It might be."
"I should stay awake, Charles. If I sleep the day away I'll only be up all night. And these shawls for the girls won't make themselves."
He looked at her a moment longer. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He clicked at the horses and jostled the leather reins. They started up again, and Caroline's headache immediately returned. She knew one day, hopefully soon, her body would adjust to this new way of life the way the girls' had. She only prayed for a clear head during tomorrow's crossing, and listened to her daughters playing with their dolls behind her.
When at last, by noon the next day, they came upon the Mississippi, the sky was cloudless, clear, and bright. The rushing current ran choppily over the smooth stones of the riverbed; thin, jagged winter ice clung along the sides where the water lapped at the stony shore. On the other side, hills with tall trees rolled on. When Caroline shaded her eyes and squinted, she could see wagon tracks marring them.
"Do you think we can get across?" Even at its thinnest point, the river still looked wide.
"I don't see why not," Charles said. "The river's swollen with the melted snow, but you can tell wagons have crossed here before by the wheel ruts running through."
Caroline bit her lip. "The water looks so wild."
"Don't worry." He put his hand over hers. "The wagon's sound, the ponies are stout. We'll be all right."
And, with no more warning than the removal of his hand as it returned to the reins, Charles moved the ponies forward with a strong "Hyah!", and they began the crossing. Caroline's stomach lurched as they moved deeper into the river, deep enough so the body of the wagon floated, the weight of the cargo and the strong ponies the only things helping them from being swept away.
"Hyah! Come on!" Charles urged. Caroline could feel the strength of the current beneath them, and though he was beside her, Charles' voice was covered by the strength of the water rushing over the rocks, and hitting Patty and Pat's flanks. Behind them, she heard Jack barking.
Laura's head poked out between them. "Can't Jack ride in the wagon, Pa?"
"Can't stop now! Don't worry about it, he'll make it!" Charles called over the water. "Get back inside!" Caroline realized he was more worried than he'd let on.
"Get inside! Lie down and hold onto Mary!" she echoed, speaking more sharply than she'd intended.
"Hyah! Hyah!" Charles whipped the horses with the leather reins. The wagon rocked, and a wave of worry and nausea washed over her.
"I'm going to be sick," Caroline muttered, looking at the swirling, dancing water. Charles only glanced at her briefly.
The ponies' were now belly-deep, and the current was beginning to take them downriver, despite their best efforts. Charles whipped them again, and the ponies continued onward. After a few minutes, the waters became more shallow, and as they did, the weight of the wagon, now heavy where the water had dampened it, was too much for the ponies to bear. They neighed and stopped, too stressed to carry on, and Caroline chewed the inside of her cheek.
"Take over for me," Charles said, handing her the reins. The leather was warm from his palms, but her own hands shook. "It's all right. I've got to lead them out!"
He lowered himself down the right side, one hand keeping ahold of the wagon wheel. Suddenly, Caroline lost sight of him as his head ducked underwater.
"CHARLES!?"
"Ma, what is it?" Mary called, but Caroline ignored her, looking frantically downward, glad to see a white-knuckled hand still gripping the wheel. In a moment, his head broke the surface and he shook out his dark hair.
"It's all right!" she heard, but her heart was racing, she felt sick with worry, and watched with a trembling mouth as Charles made his way to the ponies, taking the mare by the bridle and urging her forward.
"Come on!" Caroline tried, her voice not carrying as far as his. After a few seconds, the ponies moved forward, led by Charles, and before she knew it, the wagon emerged from the water and rolled onto the shore, creating new tracks beside the ones that had come before them.
"Whoa," Charles said, stopping the ponies at the same instant Caroline put the brake down. He staggered forward and fell on the dry grass just beyond the rocks, and Caroline dropped the reins, gathered her skirts, and jumped down. She rushed toward him, sinking to the ground. The rocks were unforgivingly hard on her knees.
"Are you all right?" She tugged at his wet shirt. Charles rolled over to his back. His lips were a little dark from the chill of the water, but his expression was light when he saw her. He even chuckled.
"Yeah!"
She shook him. "You could have drowned! Then where would we be?"
"But I didn't drown," he countered, laughing, and tugged her down with him. His skin was cold and wet, his clothes dirty, but she didn't care. He kissed her cheeks, her lips, hugging her close. Laura and Mary called out to them, and when Caroline turned she saw their heads poking out from the hole in the gathered canvas.
"Pa, I don't see Jack!" Laura said.
"Are you all right?"
"We're all right, Ma," Mary said.
"I wasn't even scared!" Laura announced proudly.
Charles, ever full of energy, stood, helped Caroline to her feet, and led the horses further into the grasses. "I'll hitch the ponies. We'll make camp here."
Caroline raised her eyebrows. "But-"
"I know it's early, but the ponies'll be exhausted, and we could all use some time on solid ground."
"Where's Jack, Pa?" Laura asked again.
"Must have gotten washed downstream, Half-Pint. I'll get him," he promised.
"Not before you change out of those wet clothes," Caroline said firmly. "I should make you some coffee, too."
Charles tossed his hair. "Oh, coffee won't wake me up the way that cold water did."
She sighed. "It's not meant to wake you up, it's meant to warm you up."
He nodded, conceding, and headed back to the wagon. Without his arm around her, the same wave of nausea washed over her. Caroline tumbled away a few paces, sunk again to her knees, and was sick over some smooth river stones. Her throat burned, her eyes were streaming, but she immediately felt better, as though it had been building up over days.
"Pa!" she heard Mary call out. "It's Ma!"
Caroline steadied herself, wiped her mouth and eyes, and stood, waving her hand before Charles could reach her. "I'm all right, Charles. I'm all right. I feel better already."
"You sure?" He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "You're pale again." He put the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Please, I don't have a temperature. You know I've never done well in water," she said, which was true. "I'm all right now, Charles."
The worried line on his forehead evened out, but he still looked at her warily. "Try and get some rest today, and I want you to stay in the wagon with the girls tomorrow."
"Really, Charles," she said, hitching up her skirts. "Let's take care of you. Change out of those clothes. The girls can help me wash some things while you look for Jack. They'll dry quickly with the sun on the rocks. And then I'll make a nice stew."
A/N: I'd love to know what you think so far! A lot of dialogue taken from the film here, but it will move further away from that reliance as the story continues...