FIVE

"Now, you're sure you and the girls are gonna be okay?"

Caroline raised a hand to shield her eyes as she looked up at Isaiah Edwards and smiled. "We'll do just fine. You go on to the mill. We'll meet you there in an hour or so."

They were standing near the school yard. Mary and Laura had asked if they could take Carrie and go swing while she conducted her business with Harriet Oleson. She'd reluctantly agreed as Willie and Nellie were already there. Nellie was playing hopscotch with some of their classmates and Willie was shooting marbles. She'd given both girls a stern dressing down before she sent them on their way. Caroline let go a little sigh. She'd wanted to threaten them with everything from no more trips into town to never setting foot in a berry patch again to make them behave but had, in the end, simply appealed to their better natures and made them promise not to get into a fight.

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure the Oleson children had a better nature.

Isaiah was munching on an apple. His mouth half-full, he said without preamble, "I sure hope Charles knows what he's doin', goin' off with that there half-grown savage on his own."

She did too – and she didn't really need anybody reminding her that she did. "I'm sure he does," she said, her tone more curt than intended.

The munching stopped. "Eh, sorry there, Caroline. Guess I didn't think – "

"No, I guess you didn't."

She frowned. Now she was being plain rude.

"I'm sorry, Isaiah," she said with a sigh. "It's just I'm worried about the same thing –"

"Now, now..." He moved forward to awkwardly tap her on the shoulder. "Now don't you go frettin' none. I was just joshin', you know, bein' hard on Charles 'cause I like him so. He'll be just fine. After all, that boy cain't be more than sixteen at most. Charles is twice his age and half-again his size." He took another bite and munched thoughtfully. "The boy's awful scrawny. You know? Puny, I mean."

Scrawny, yes. Puny? No, he wasn't. She'd seen the muscles rippling along the boy's exposed arms and chest, and listened while Charles told Doc Baker of the way the boy had taken on and nearly taken down the giant that was Jim Rhodes. Isaiah was just humoring her. He knew as well as she did that by Alan's age, in his own tribe, he would be considered a man and a warrior.

But then, he hadn't been living with his tribe. From what Charles could glean, the boy had been raised as a white.

But he seemed to hate whites.

Caroline sighed again and then smiled. Since she'd married Charles, it had become a habit.

"Somethin' funny?"

She shook her head as her eyes returned to the girls. They'd reached the swing. Carrie was on it and they were taking turns pushing. Nellie was still hopping and Willie was whooping with a win.

Seemed like a good time to go inside.

"If you'll excuse me, Isaiah. I need to drop off the eggs."

His eyes went over her head to the mercantile. "You sure you don't want me to...saunter...in with you on my arm," he asked with a wink, "just to keep that old battleaxe's tongue from waggin'?"

"Saunter?" Caroline grinned. She made a mock curtsey. "Why, I thank you, milord, but that is quite unnecessary. I carry my own sharp sword."

Isaiah's eyebrows popped and he snorted as he tipped his hat. "I guess you do at that. Well, I'll be over at Hanson's. You just whistle if you find out your need a cudgel!"

The blonde woman stood a moment staring after him, remembering how much she had disliked 'Mister Edwards' when Charles had first brought him to their home in Kansas to help with the construction. He had seemed an uncouth, uncivilized, brash and disorderly individual and she had quickly judged him as such.

To her everlasting disgrace.

In the end, no one had proved truer to them and she thanked God every day that the irascible mountain man was in their lives – even if he had tried to teach Laura to spit.

With a smile on her face, Caroline turned toward the mercantile. Twenty steps brought her to the door. As she entered the store, she could hear Harriet and two of the women from the church speaking in hushed tones.

'Poor woman,' she heard. And, 'such a disgrace'.

The conversation stopped when she stepped into the room.

Harriet, as usual, looked like a child caught with her fingers in the candy jar. Fluttering like a startled Blue jay in her blue and white checked dress, she rounded the counter and came toward her.

"Why, Caroline! I wasn't expecting you today. After all, you just brought in eggs on Saturday."

"It was the day before," she corrected. "And they're laying fine this year."

"Well, yes," the black-haired woman replied as she smoothed the front of her dress in a nervous habit. "Lenora was just asking about a fresh dozen, weren't you, Lenora?" she asked one of the stunned women standing by the counter.

Lenora nodded dutifully.

"Here, I'll just take the whole basket and pay you, and you can be on your way."

Caroline let her take the basket before saying, "Oh, I'm in no hurry. I thought I would look at some fabric. The girls are in need of new pinafores."

As she turned away she saw Harriet scowl and roll her eyes toward the door.

Before Lenora and her companion could escape, the blonde woman turned so she leaned against the dry goods table and asked, "I heard you two talking when I came in. I was wondering what about?"

Lenora Adams was a widow. The woman with her was her companion, Bessie Smith. Bessie had no husband or children of her own either and so the pair of them had nothing better to do but get into everybody else's business.

The good Lord told man to propagate for a good reason!

Bessie's lips were drawn tight and curled up at the ends like a little bow. "Why, were just discussing the ...weather, weren't we, Lennie?"

"Yes, and how fine it is!" the older woman exclaimed.

Caroline nodded. "I see." This was the point where Charles would tell her to back away.

But Charles wasn't here.

"And just what about the weather exactly is a 'disgrace'?" she queried. "And the 'poor woman' you were talking about, that was Mother Nature, I presume?"

If she hadn't been so angry, she would have burst out laughing. All three of the nosey Nellies were frozen in place in their finery with their chins doubled and their eyes popping. They looked for all the world like three wild birds caught in Charles' sights.

Caroline blinked several times and, using her best schoolmarm voice, said, "Well? I'm waiting."

It was Harriet who thawed first.

"Well, I never!" Her hands went to her ample hips. "And just what are you accusing these fine upstanding women of?"

"I am accusing these fine upstanding church-going women of being what the Good Book warns against – gossips!" she snapped back, her temper rising.

"And maybe someone here has a guilty conscience, hmm?" Harriet countered, her arms wrapped around her middle and the toe of her expensive white patent leather boot tapping. "Maybe someone here knows the truth and just can't face it!"

She was getting in deep. If she was going to back down, she had better do it now. She'd often told the girls that sticks and stones might break their bones, but words could never hurt them.

It was a lie, of course. Once something was said, it couldn't be taken back.

Maybe she should have had Isaiah come along with that cudgel after all.

Caroline's eyes shot from one hostile face to the next. If she backed down, they'd go around town continuing to spread their lies and telling everyone they were true. If she didn't back down, she'd have to hear those lies and live with the consequences.

Well, the Bible said, 'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'

Steeling herself, she answered quietly, "And just what exactly is it that you are insinuating, Harriet?"

Bessie shook her head and sighed. "Maybe she really doesn't know, poor dear," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm disguised as pity.

"Well, men, after all, will be men," Leonora agreed. "Not all couples have the same open and honest relationship the late Mister Adams and I had. I'm sure Mister Ingalls' previous 'dalliances' are not the topic of suppertime conversation."

The younger woman nodded. "And with a savage no less," she clucked.

Harriet's dark eyes sparked with a predatory gleam. "Face it, my dear. The whole town knows. After all, why else would that savage child have come looking for your husband personally?" The black-haired woman drew closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Of course we know it's not your fault, Caroline. After all, a woman has no control over what her man does before they marry. I mean...sixteen years ago..." She paused and then looked straight after. "You would have been courting then? Isn't that right?"

At that moment she knew she'd been wrong. It wasn't Charles Laura got her temper from.

It was her!

"Harriet Oleson," Caroline drew a deep, steadying breath before going on, "I would suggest you put that counter between you and me before I have time to reach you and wipe that smug look off of your face!"

Bessie's eyes widened. Lenora gasped.

"The woman's always the last one to know," the older woman stated simply.

"And you two!" The blonde woman rounded on them. "If I wasn't a Christian woman I'd take you by the throat and shake some sense into – "

"Ma?"

One word. It was one word and it deflated her anger just as surely as if a pin had been inserted into a balloon.

Wincing, Caroline turned to find her three girls standing hand in hand in the doorway to the mercantile. Their hair was perfect, their pinafores untarnished, their knees unskinned. There were no bloody noses or bruises on chins.

Unlike her, they had not gotten into a fight.

"Is everything okay, Ma?" Mary asked, concerned.

She closed her eyes as she nodded. "Yes."

Behind her she heard Harriet Oleson stir. The black-haired woman walked quickly behind the counter with the egg basket. Drawing out her coin purse, she loudly counted out the least she could pay for the eggs and then held it out to her. Without a word, Caroline took the money and then went to join her girls. As they stepped out of the store, she felt three pairs of eyes following her.

"Well, I never!" she heard Harriet Oleson exclaim.

"Truth will out," Lenora Adams sniped. "All it takes is one look at that boy's hair."

"Poor woman," Bessie Smith sighed. "What a disgrace."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Laura looked at her ma where she sat beside Mister Edwards in the wagon; her sun bonnet pulled down to shield her eyes and her honey-colored hair blowin' in the breeze. They'd left the Oleson's store and gone straight to the mill where they met the mountain man and, after her ma and Mister Hanson talked for a few minutes while Mister Edwards finished loading the wagon, headed home. Ma'd hardly said three words since they'd left town. She'd blushed right up to her ears when the three of them had stepped through the door of the mercantile and it was mighty puzzlin' why, though she thought it might of been on occasion that ma looked like she was ready to go a round with that old Mrs. Oleson. Laura smiled as an image appeared in her mind of her mother climbin' into a ring wearin' boxing gloves and ready to take on that old blabbermouth for somethin' she'd said. Grown-ups were funny. They got just as mad as kids, but they pretended like they didn't – like gettin' mad was somethin' bad. Pa'd told her the Bible said it was just fine to get mad. In fact, it warned that it was a bad thing if you didn't. But, Pa said, you had to be mad about somethin' important, and somethin' you weren't gonna profit from.

Pa'd been right mad when he'd left the house that evening.

When Mister Edwards arrived, Pa'd taken him out to the barn to show him everything that would need doin' until he got back. When they was done, they both came into the house and had a cup of coffee together and then Pa packed up his belongings so he was ready for the trip he was takin' with the Indian boy. He left them in the house and went out to let Alan know it was almost time and that he should get ready. It wasn't long before they heard shoutin' and when Pa came back in the house he was stormin' like a nor'easter. He didn't say much while they were in earshot, but after puttin' Carrie to bed and then climbin' up into the loft to tuck them in and say 'goodbye', he went back downstairs and she heard the three of them – Ma, Pa, and Mister Edwards – talkin' in low tones so's they couldn't hear. Mary fell asleep right away, but she couldn't, so she'd tiptoed to the edge of the loft and laid there just out of sight, listening. In the end it seemed it hadn't been the Indian boy who'd made him so mad, though Pa said Alan was about the most stubborn thing he' ever laid eyes on. One of their neighbors had been ridin' past and had confirmed Mrs. Oleson was spreadin' rumors around town. Ma talked him out of goin' in to see her and said Mrs. Oleson would get her 'comeuppance' on judgment day if not sooner. Now, she wasn't dumb, but she sure couldn't figure out what those rumors were about. Still, she was sure they had to with what Pa had talked to her about before – about whatever he'd had before Ma – when he made her promise she wouldn't pop Nellie in the nose. And then Ma had gone and darn near popped Nellie's ma!

Grownups sure were confusing.

"What do you suppose it's all about?" Mary asked, her voice hushed. Carrie was asleep in her lap and she must have thought it was okay for them to talk. They were riding at the back of the wagon, so if they talked real soft neither Mister Edwards or their ma would hear.

Laura shrugged. "Somethin' to do with Pa and that Indian boy, I guess."

Mary glanced at her mother. "You know what Ma always says?"

Yes, she knew. But what one of the hundred thousand things Ma said was her sister referring to?

"What?"

Mary scowled. "People only get mad at rumors when there's some truth to them."

Ma had said that. Lots of times. Usually followed by, 'So those who know the truth should just ignore them and keep their tempers.'

Laura was silent a moment. "You think Pa knew Alan before somehow?"

Mary shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Her eyes went to the her Ma. She was talking to Mister Edwards and paying no attention to them. "You think Ma'd let us walk to town tomorrow?"

"Why would she?" her sister asked.

"I don't know." She thought a moment. "Yes, I do! Didn't the Reverend Alden ask you if you could sew up that tear in his black coat before Sunday?"

"Ah, he was just being nice. He's got plenty of ladies to sew up his clothes."

"But he asked you." Laura's eyes returned to her mother's back. "Ma will let us go for that. After all, we didn't get into any fights today. And then I can talk to Nellie –"

"Laura, don't."

"Don't what?"

Mary had that funny look on her face, the one where she was trying hard to be all grown up. "You know what Pa said. Talking to Nellie isn't going to do anything but cause trouble. Whatever it is, it's not important."

Laura studied her sister. Mary was a real bad liar. Maybe it was because she was just about as perfect a little girl as God had ever created and He'd just plain forgot to tell her how to do it. Those big clear blue eyes of hers would narrow and her brow furrow; her jaw grew tight and just about every time, tears misted in her eyes, like lyin' brought about as much pain as a toothache.

"What aren't you tellin' me?" Laura asked, genuinely afraid.

Mary's head shook. "Nothing. Stop bein silly."

"What are you two whispering about back there?" their mother asked sternly.

Laura turned to find her looking at them. "Nothing, Ma'am. I was just reminding Mary that Reverend Alden asked if she could come to town and mend his coat for him sometime before Sunday."

Their mother's lips grew tight.

"Well, can we, Ma?" she asked, pouring every bit of innocence into the question she could.

"We'll see," the older woman said, and then turned back to face the road.

'Well, see.' More often than not, that meant 'yes'.

Laura pulled a face on her sister and then sat back against the side of the wagon.

They sure would see.

Tomorrow, she'd find Nellie and see just what that old battleaxe of a mother she had knew.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Once back at the house, Caroline ordered the girls to do their chores and then threw herself into hers. All the time she was scrubbing the clothes, she thought about rubbing Harriet Oleson's interfering nose against the board. As she wrung them out, she thought about doing the same thing to the woman's turkey-wattle neck, and when she whacked the rug with the beater, she did it with relish, imagining the carpet to be the black-haired woman's broad rear end.

Finally, totally and completely spent, she sat down on the stump she usually shared with Charles' after supper and burst into tears. She sat there for some time, sobbing and berating herself for sobbing, before she heard the scuff of boots on dirt behind her. Hurriedly, she ran a hand over her face to clear it of tears and turned with a smile on her face, as if its brilliance could hide her red-rimmed eyes and dripping nose. She'd been afraid it was one of the children. It wasn't.

It was a rather embarrassed and somewhat distressed Isaiah Edwards.

He was supposed to be in the fields. She hadn't expected him until dark.

"Isaiah," she said, forcing a bright tone. "Do you need something?"

"I just came back for some tools," he mumbled as he walked past. "I'll just be goin' to get them."

Caroline's shoulders slumped with relief. He wasn't going to say anything. He was probably as uncomfortable as she was. He –

"Caroline?"

Oh dear.

"Yes?"

"Well, you know me," he started, rambling a bit, "I ain't used to bein' around no family and especially no womenfolk, and I know I can be dumb as an ass walkin' backwards, but seems to me somethin's got you upset."

She sniffed again. What gave it away, she wondered? The sobbing or the fact that her white blouse was soaked clean through?

"No, I'm fine. Just fine."

"I said 'dumb as an ass', not blind as a bat, Caroline," the mountain man said, his tone growing serious. "Now, you see, I'm here to look after you and the girls. And while I ain't the softest of men, I just plain cain't stand to see a woman cry."

"This?" she asked, indicating her face. "Oh, I'm just tired, that's all. There's so much to do with Charles gone. I'm worried about him too –"

"You're also lyin'." He met her gaze. "And though I ain't well acquainted with the Good Book, seems to me I heard that's what's called a sin." When she said nothing, he went on, "Now I ain't denyin' you're worried about your man, and I ain't sayin' you ain't got a right to be. What Charles is doin is 'iffy' at best, and plain loco at worst." Isaiah reached out and touched one of the tears trailing down her cheek and then pulled back as if he had committed a crime. "This got to do with what that old nag said to you in town today?"

"Harriet? Why would you think –"

The mountain man's dark eyes rolled upwards. "The Man upstairs is listenin'."

She sat there a minute, at war with herself, and then leapt off the stump as if it had suddenly been overrun with ants.

"That woman! Harriet Oleson is the most wicked, scheming, unprincipled creature ever to walk upon God's green earth! How she can come into church on Sunday and take a seat in the pews and hold her head up is beyond me!"

Isaiah took off his hat and scratched his head. He thought to spit, but changed his mind. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't the Good Book say that church is a place for sinners?"

That stopped her.

Caroline closed her eyes as more tears flowed. "Oh, Isaiah," she sighed. "I am so sorry. Why I let that woman get under my skin, I'll never know."

He nodded and then eyed her a minute. "You doubtin' Charles?"

She started to answer and then halted.

Was she?

Charles had been a bit wild when she met him – defiant and confrontational as Laura sometimes was. Did she consider it a possibility that he might have been involved with a native woman before he knew her? Charles' faith was sound as hers, but she had no illusions about the fact that he was a man and as such might not have adhered to the Bible's strictures as she had before marriage. The Big Woods had their fair share of Indians back then, though they had for the most part remained to themselves. Still, it was ridiculous.

Really.

So why did Harriet bringing up the possibility bother her so much?

"Caroline?"

Isaiah was watching her. She hung her head ashamed.

A second later she felt his large rugged hand on her shoulder. "Now, don't you go frettin'. Charles ain't got nothin' to do with that boy other than that he's Jack Lame Horse's grandson and in need. You know that husband of yours, ain't a man would go farther or climb higher to meet an obligation than him. He feels, well, obliged, you know, since that old chief saved his life."

Yes, she knew and, the truth be told, Charles would have gone with the boy to help him whether Jack Lame Horse had saved his life or not.

That was just Charles.

"Here."

Caroline looked up to find a soiled hankie dangling in front of her face. On it was the record of Isaiah's day, from eating lunch to sweating at the plow.

"Thank you," she said as she politely took it, dabbed at her cheek while doing her best to keep it away from her nose, and then twisted it in-between her fingers.

"You okay now?" he asked.

She almost laughed at his tone. It was hesitant as a boy looking at a bath.

With a smile, she said, "Yes, I'm fine. Really."

"Well, okay then," he replied, almost dancing a jig. "I'll just go get that rake I came in for."

She glanced at the sky. The day was moving on. It was time to begin preparing the midday meal. As a matter of fact, she could see the girls heading in from their chores to do just that. They were nearly in the yard.

"Don't go too far," she said as she rose, halting him in his tracks.

"Why ever not?"

Caroline grinned. "It's almost time for dinner. Give us about an hour and a half and then come on in and wash up."

He tipped his hat. "Wouldn't miss it for all the tea in China."

"You don't like tea," she laughed – unless it was liberally laced with whiskey.

"Well, now, Ma'am, I cain't rightly argue there."

Stepping up to him, Caroline took the mountain man by the arm and then raised up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Now what was that for?" Isaiah asked, blushing like a school girl.

Caroline smiled. "For being a friend like no other. God has surely blessed us with you."

"You gettin' sweet on Mister Edwards, Ma?" she heard her middle daughter ask with a giggle.

Pivoting, she looked right at her. "Maybe. After all, he's here and your father's not."

Laura sputtered. "But...but...Ma!"

Mister Edwards had Laura in his arms a second later and was swinging the little girl around. "Now, you know, Half-pint, there ain't no room in this big old grizzly bear's heart for anyone but you!"

Realizing she'd been had, Laura started to laugh. "I knew that! Ma wouldn't kiss you anyhow. You got too many whiskers!"

"That's right!" he declared and then rubbed them against her child's cheeks as he carried her into the house.

A second later she felt Mary's hand slip into hers. Looking down, she saw something hidden in her child's eyes and then it was gone as if it had never been.

"Mary?"

"Is everything okay, Ma?" she asked.

Caroline looked in the direction Charles had gone. She knew in her heart now that she trusted him no mater what.

"Yes, darling," she said, as she planted a kiss on Mary's golden hair, "everything is just fine."