TEN
Laura Ingalls went once again to the door of the Edwards' house and looked out. It was gettin' late in the day and she was worried about their ma. Ma had been awful mysterious when she brought them to their friends' home. She'd been surprised when her ma was wearing her Sunday clothes in the middle of the week and even more surprised when they got to the Edwards to find Mister Edwards was too. Mary said it had something to do with what people had been saying about their pa, but she couldn't figure out what. Laura's lips twisted with a grin. When Ma and Mister Edwards had driven off, it looked like they were goin' on a date.
Pa would sure be sore if that was the case!
Mary sighed as she came to stand beside her. "Nothing yet?" she asked.
Laura shook her head.
"I declare, you two!" Grace Edwards remarked as she returned to the parlor from the kitchen. "Haven't you ever heard a watched pot never boils!"
She'd heard it. She'd checked it out.
It did too boil.
"Yes, ma'am," Mary answered for the both of them.
"Now why don't you come over to the table and join Karl and Alyssa. I've got some fresh baked molasses cookies and – "
Mrs. Edwards heard it too. Horses hooves and the sound of wheels – and two voices singin' 'Old Dan Tucker' at the top of their lungs
Laura flung the door open and dashed outside shouting, "Ma! Ma!"
Mary and Carrie weren't far behind.
Mister Edwards was helping their mother down from the wagon.
She didn't even complain when they almost knocked her over.
"Goodness!" Ma exclaimed as she hugged them. "You'd think I'd been gone a year!"
It felt like a year – with Pa gone too.
Grace had followed behind them. She looked at Mister Edwards and then asked their ma, "How did...things go?"
Their mother glanced at them and then seemed to make up something in her mind. She picked up Carrie and headed for the house. "Come inside, all of you," she said, "and I'll tell you."
They listened with rapt attention as their ma told them what her trip into town had been for, and how the minister had called out Mrs. Oleson and those other two old busybodies Bessie and Lenora right in front of everyone. She kind of wished Nellie had been there too, but her ma told her Nellie was only imitatin' her Ma and Mrs. Oleson was the real problem. The room grew hushed as ma came to the part after lunch where the church door opened and the three old busybodies darted in. Ma said Mrs. Oleson looked like a sneak thief. She had on her winter cloak even though it wasn't winter and had the hood pulled way forward over her head so her face didn't show. Miss Lenora and Miss Bessie were the same. It was like they thought they could hide from the Lord.
Laura shook her head. Weren't no one could do that.
"What ever did Harriet say?" Grace asked.
"Well, she didn't exactly admit she was the one who started the rumors." Their mother smiled. She stood up and went over to Mary, who was standing by the table listening. Taking her sister by the arms, their ma led her into the middle of the room. With a little grin, she said, "Now, Mary, you pretend to be me."
At first Mary was a little flustered, then she smiled. She pulled her ribbon from her hair and tied the blonde waves back and flipped the tail into a little bun. Then she got that 'look' ma had when they'd done somethin' wrong. Her eyes kind of narrowed and her lips turned down at the corners. Then she crossed her arms and began to tap her toe.
Their ma nearly split a gut.
"Do I really look like that?" she asked as the laughter settled. When they both nodded enthusiastically, she shook her head. "It's a wonder I haven't scared all of you off." Sobering slightly, Ma said to Mary, "Now, you ask me what I have to say."
"Harriet Oleson," Mary said with a scowl, "what do you have to say for yourself?"
Their mother raised a hand and began to wave it in that way Mrs. Oleson had, sort of fluttering it like a fan meant to drive a pest away. "Well, I... I never thought my silly little words would cause so much to-do! I can't imagine how they were misconstrued. I never meant to imply...well, I..." The other hand came up. This time it looked like she was fending off a swarm of bees. "Well, of course, Caroline, dear, I'm sorry! It goes without saying."
"Seems to me a lot went 'without saying'," Isaiah growled.
Their mother had taken Mary by the hands. After planting a little kiss on her head, she looked at Mister Edwards. "You know, Harriet, Isaiah. That was quite an admission for her!"
"What about those other two mean old ladies?" Laura asked.
Her mother gave her that look – the one Mary had imitated so well. "Laura! I will not have you being disrespectful to your elders." She held the look a moment and then a smile broke over her lips. "Even if they are 'old bats' like Isaiah says."
"Ma!" Mary exclaimed.
Then they all laughed.
Later that night when Ma tucked them into bed she told them the Reverend Alden hadn't let the three women off so easily. He was going to the Indian reservation that day with Doctor Baker and, as a fitting punishment, he had 'enlisted' Mrs. Oleson and Misses Bessie and Lenora to go with him to tend and serve the sick Indians there.
Laura laid there while her ma and her sister talked, watching the older woman. Ma seemed happier now, but there was a shadow around her eyes, one that darkened her smile and let her know she was still sad.
When the blonde woman turned to her, she asked out of the blue, "Ma, are you okay"?
Her question startled her mother. "Of course. Why would you ask?"
She thought a moment. "Well, you just ain't," she paused to correct herself, "aren't the same."
"How's that?" Ma asked with a shrug of her shoulders.
"I don't know." She thought about it a moment. "I guess, it's like – when Pa's gone – part of you is gone too. You know? Like its missing?"
She hadn't meant to make her mother cry. She felt awful that she had.
Mary sat up and wrapped her arm around their mother's shoulders. Laura sat up too and took her hand.
"Pa's all right, Ma," Mary said, her voice soft. "He'll be back soon."
"Mary's right. Pa can look out for himself." Laura paused, She shook her head as she added firmly, "There ain't no one like Pa!"
Her mother looked at the two of them, and then she gathered them into her arms. "What have I done to deserve you?" she asked through her tears.
Laura was pretty sure she meant that in a good way.
Their mother reared back. She took each of their faces in her hands and kissed them. Then she rose to her feet.
"You say your prayers and I'll say mine," she said quietly as she headed for the loft ladder. "Remember to praise God and then to offer thanks before asking."
As their mother's head disappeared, Laura looked at her sister. "You really think Pa is okay?"
Mary rose and went to the window and looked out.
Neither one of them said a word.
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The big city courtroom was filled to capacity. The weather, which had been unseasonably cold for spring, had swung toward hot and it was close and stuffy inside. Charles had left his heavy winter coat behind and wore a simple brown suit with a white shirt and string tie. Jefferson Brush had bought the suit for him the night before on the second evening they were in town. He'd objected, but the marshal explained that – in a town like Mankato and before a federal judge – appearances mattered, probably more than they should. Jefferson told him he could pay him back when he had the money, sayin' he wasn't goin' anywhere. Brush was in his Sunday best too. He had on a deep blue suit and had his marshal's badge pinned prominently on its lapel. Brush's keen eyes swept the courtroom, constantly assessing the crowd and noting its mood which kept swinging from interested to bored and on toward ugly.
Jack Lame Horse was sitting in the witness box. As before when he had known him, the old native hadn't said a word.
A court lawyer had been appointed for Lame Horse and the man was doin' his best. He was young and pretty inexperienced. Charles had listened in on a conversation between him and Brush and it seemed the city man was sympathetic to Lame Horse's cause, but he doubted they could get him off. There had been a long string of witnesses called by the prosecutor, Devin Hanks, who could place Jack Lame Horse on the battlefield and, while none of them had actually seen him kill a white man, they all accepted that he had.
Charles' head still hurt and he reached up to rub the skin just below the angry cut on his forehead. Brush had brought in a doctor that morning to take a look at it before they headed to the courthouse. He'd cleaned it up as best he could and then wound a fresh strip of linen around it. It showed now that he had to remove his hat. He just hoped no one thought he was workin' the wound to get their sympathy.
That would have been a darn foolish thing to do since it didn't appear any of them had any.
It was almost his turn to speak. The lawyer for the prosecution had presented most of his case, calling all those people. He knew he was next. He was what the court called a 'hostile' witness for the prosecution. The young lawyer, his name was Edwin Grey, had told him to answer all of the other attorney's questions honestly and to the best of his ability. That had brought a smile to Jefferson Brush's face.
"Ingalls doesn't know any other way," he'd muttered, admiration in his tone.
"The state calls Charles Ingalls!" the bailiff announced.
Charles rose to his feet. He tried not to wobble. After he'd found his balance, he left his chair and went to take a seat in the witness box. He passed Jack Lame Horse on the way. The native's hands were chained behind his back. He looked like he had been roughly treated at some point. Still, if there was a man with dignity in that courtroom, it was him.
He was unbowed.
Lame Horse inclined his head toward him as they passed. He did the same.
"Mister Ingalls," the bailiff said as he opened the box.
Charles went in and stood.
The judge picked up the Bible on his desk and held it out to him. Charles reverently placed his hand on the worn leather cover.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing less, Mister Ingalls, so help you God?"
He looked at the man. He was a pretty good judge of character and this man looked hard but fair. Judge Winters was close to sixty, he reckoned, and had crisp blue eyes framed by a head of wiry silver hair. The older man wore his glasses low on his nose and a non-committal look on his face that suggested his mind was open.
Charles nodded. "I do."
"You may sit down, Mister Ingalls." The judge turned to the prosecutor then. "You may examine the witness."
The first few questions were the expected ones, who was he and where was he from, how did he meet the defendant, and so on. It was only as the prosecutor moved on to what happened inside the cabin that he started to lose his temper. Jack Anders couldn't be present, so he had sent a signed and sealed document stating what he remembered. The prosecutor kept takin' his words and twistin' them, makin' it sound like Jack Lame Horse had come back to kill them after his escape instead of bringin' meat to save them.
"Isn't it true," Hanks pressed, "that while you and your family were sleeping and defenseless the defendant stole a rifle and knife?"
He really didn't like the man. The red face he kept shovin' at him reminded him of a pig.
"It's true, but –"
"And isn't it also true that he returned later in the day, startling you in the barn where you were once again completely defenseless?'
Charles frowned. "I didn't hear him comin', but he wasn't –"
"Didn't the Indian run once Marshal Anders called him out, indicating that he was guilty as charged and knew his life would be forfeit if he remained?"
"He ran because his life was in danger!" Charles countered, all but shouting. "You're twistin' everythin' Anders said."
The judge's voice sounded beside him. "Just answer the questions, Mister Ingalls."
He looked at the man, reassessing him. "But what he says ain't true."
Hanks looked triumphant. He held up Anders' statement and waved it. "It is all in here. I suggest that if Mister Ingalls account of the incident differs from Marshal Anders, he be dismissed as a witness as he is obviously biased toward the native population and Jack Lame Horse in particular!"
A general hubbub broke out in the courtroom. The judge silenced it with a gavel strike. "There will be order in the court!" he boomed.
It took a minute, but there was.
And so it went, him saying one thing and the prosecutor twistin' and turnin' his words and Anders' so they said something else. He was furious by the time the judge finally said, "Your witness, Mister Grey."
Edwin Grey stepped up to the box and smiled at him. Concern in his eyes, he turned to the judge. "Judge Winters, Mister Ingalls was injured on his way here. Would it be possible to get him a glass of water and take a minute or two before beginning again?"
Before the prosecutor could object, the judge nodded. "Ten minute recess," he declared. "Bailiff, get Mister Ingalls a glass of water. I will be in my chambers."
Grey smiled at him. "You did well."
"He made me sound like a liar," Charles replied with a scoff.
"But you didn't sound like a liar," the defense attorney grinned. "You sounded like a man outraged that he was being called a liar. There's a big difference, especially with Judge Winters."
"The judge is a fair man, Charles," Jefferson said as he joined them. "We're lucky he's the one who got the case."
Charles thanked the bailiff as the man handed him a glass of cool water. His head wound was throbbing and he felt slightly sick.
"You look worn out," Edwin said.
"I am worn out," Charles admitted with a lop-sided smile as his eyes went to Jefferson Brush. "It's been a long few days."
"Amen to that," Brush said.
The defense lawyer turned to the marshal. "Have you spoken with the army concerning Wilts?"
Jefferson nodded. "Seems they knew he was on the edge. Though he was retired, Wilts had volunteered to help train men and they'd carried tales about him. I guess they passed him off on us to get him out of their hair. There will be an inquiry, but since I'm a marshal, there shouldn't be any trouble." His eyes went to Charles. "I told them I killed him."
He didn't like being a party to lies, but then they couldn't be completely certain. Brush's gun had gone off when he fell, even though he was pretty sure the shot had gone wide.
Charles nodded as he took another sip of water.
And then, all too soon, they were at it again.
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Caroline awakened early and had gotten to her chores. The girls were still sleeping. Unlike the day before, due to the meeting, they had school and it would soon be time to rouse them and get them on their way. She hoped Nellie wouldn't retaliate for what had passed between her and Harriet. If she was lucky, Harriet had said very little about what had happened for fear of stirring up the Reverend Alden's ire again. Still, she had a vision of skinned knees and black eyes and had actually pulled out the Indian lilac to treat any cuts and scrapes her middle girl came home with. Caroline smiled softly. The Bible said the sins of the father were visited upon the coming generations.
Laura certainly had her father's temper!
As she turned to cut the loaf of bread she had pulled out of the oven to cool a half hour before, the blonde woman was startled to hear a rig pull into the yard. By the sound of it, it was most likely Doctor Baker. She wiped her hands on her apron, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and approached the door with trepidation.
What would the Doctor be doing out here this early?
The first thing the Hiram said as she opened the door was, "There's nothing wrong, Caroline."
She let out a relieved sigh. "I thought maybe Charles..."
He shook his head. "I haven't seen Charles. However..." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. With a smile he handed it to her. "Someone has."
She looked at the envelope. The corner of a telegram was peaking out of it. "What's this?" she asked.
"A rider came into town just about the time I was getting ready to head out. I heard him asking where he could find the home of Charles Ingalls. He said he'd ridden hard from Mankato."
Caroline stared at the telegram. She swallowed and looked up at the doctor. "Do you think it's from Charles?"
The older man grinned. "I think the only way you are going to know is to open it."
She frowned. It was such a strange thing. A little piece of paper wrapped in more paper that held words that could change her life.
Doctor Baker's hand found her arm. "God protects good men, Caroline. I'm sure it's from Charles, telling you he is all right."
She blinked back tears and nodded. Then, using her index finger, she pried open the envelope and read the short abrupt words it contained. As she did, a little sob of gratitude escaped her.
"Am I right?" their friend asked.
Caroline nodded. She took the message up again and read.
ARRIVED MANKATO. SAFE. TRIAL IN 2 DAYS. HOME SOON. LOVE TO YOU AND GIRLS. CHARLES.
The doctor's grip tightened on her arm. "Do you need to sit down?"
She shook herself. "No. No. I'm just...relieved."
As the blond man nodded, she saw his expression change. "Perhaps you should read it again."
Caroline frowned.
"You have a new audience."
She turned to find Laura and Mary had come down from the loft. Their little concerned faces showed through the crack they had opened in the door.
Mary's blue eyes were pinned to the sheet of paper. "Is that from Pa?" she asked. "Is he all right?"
She realized they had misconstrued her tears of joy for ones of sadness. "Your pa is fine!" she declared. "He's in Mankato and he's safe!"
A second later she was surrounded by arms.
Doctor Baker was smiling at them. He tipped his hat. "Well, I can guarantee nothing I do for the rest of the day is going to bring as much happiness as what I just did! You take care of yourself, Caroline." He pointed at the girls. "And you two stay out of trouble!"
"We will!" they chimed in chorus.
After the doctor had gone, they went into the house. As the girls returned to the loft to prepare for school, Caroline sat down at the table and read the telegram again. At first, she could think of nothing else but that word 'safe'. Then she began to wonder. There was no mention of Alan. Nothing to indicate the angry Indian boy was still with Charles. Her husband had made it to Mankato safely to testify in Jack Lame Horse's behalf, but what had the trip there been like? If he'd been hurt, he wouldn't have said. He wouldn't have wanted her to worry.
Of course, she would worry anyway. She would worry until she saw him coming down the road out front; until she felt her lips on his and his strong hands on her waist.
Rising, she went to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out.
"Hurry home, Charles."
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The examination by the defense went a lot easier, though Edwin Grey pressed him on the same points the prosecutor had, making him clarify everything he'd said and gettin' in an occasional dig at what the Devin Hanks had said in spite of his objections. They were almost done. Grey was summing up his case. He was still in the witness box as he'd asked to make a statement on Jack Lame Horse's behalf and, amazingly, the judge had agreed. Lame Horse had been returned to the court for the summations and had sat stoically through the prosecutor's as the man called him everything from a red-faced savage to a murderer, painting the picture of a dark, menacing man filled with hate for a whole race of men.
Blindness, it seemed, went both ways.
Grey had finished and he looked at him. Then he turned to the judge. "That concludes the defense's statement, your honor. I believe it's Mister Ingalls' turn."
The judge nodded. "Mister Ingalls?"
Charles rose. He stood for a moment looking over the crowd and then he began to speak.
"Thank you, your Honor," he began, "for hearin' what I have to say." Turning to the people in the court, he said, "I want to ask every man and woman here by what right they seek to deprive this brother man – Jack Lame Horse – of the life which is as dear to him as theirs is to them? Although he's an Indian, we've got a common father. Jack Lame Horse is a son of Adam too. He was made bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh." Charles noted the reactions of the occupants of the courtroom. Some were outraged, but most were squirming in their seats. "Besides," he went on, "by what authority do we boast of our being white? Who established the doctrine that a white skin is better in nature or in God's sight than a red one?" His jaw tightened as anger shook him. "Who said that white men are at liberty to shoot and hunt down red men? In my opinion, the Indians of America have been more sinned against than sinning. Our forefathers came across the Atlantic and took advantage of their fears and simplicity. They used that to find a resting place among the Indians and since that time have abused it until the Indians have been driven from their homes and firesides. Soon they'll be extinct!i" Charles drew a calming breath. His gaze remained steady. "But then, maybe that's what you all want." He paused. He knew in the city God often took a back seat to progress and gain, but he was gonna tell them what He thought anyway. "It says in Revelation 5:9, 'And they sang a new song, saying, 'Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation'." After a second he repeated, "Every tribe and nation."
And then he left the box.
As he dropped into a chair at the defense table, Edwin Grey placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Charles. Well done."
He hoped so. He hoped it was enough to keep the noose off Jack Lame Horse's neck.
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Caroline once again stood at the window looking out on their yard. Over a week had passed since Charles' telegram had arrived. There'd been no other from him, though that didn't surprise her as she knew they were very expensive to send. The day was almost done. The children were in their beds. They'd said their prayers and she could hear a soft snoring drifting down from above. It had taken a few days, but Nellie's true colors had finally shown and she'd told Laura her mother had done nothing wrong and that her pa was at fault. Laura had shouted something just about the same back, saying Harriet was a sinner and her Pa, well, was a saint. Both of them had ended up tumbling into the creek and both now had colds.
And so life went on.
With a glance at the loft, Caroline reached for her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders and stepped outside. The weather over the last few weeks had been so changeable and it was chilly again. She went to the stump – the one that seemed so empty when she spied it and her husband wasn't sitting there – and sat down. It was Sunday night. Tomorrow the new week would begin. The service had been interesting. For the last two weeks, the Reverend Alden had spoken on the topic of gossips and liars. Harriet Oleson hadn't shown. Nels came to church each week with the word that she had a headache. Caroline knew how it would go. Harriet would conveniently stay away until the topic went away too, and then she would begin to spread rumors again. It wouldn't surprise her if, in the future, Charles ended up as her target once more. Perhaps she would even try the same thing. Charles was a handsome man. She saw the women in the town watching him. His natural charm and beauty turned heads and there were women, she knew, who had indicated they would be interested if he was. He never was, God bless him.
He was only interested in her.
Closing her eyes, Caroline dropped her head. She linked her hands and fell into a state of grace, speaking to her Father in Heaven and thanking him for all the blessings he had bestowed upon her. She was so deep in thought that she didn't hear him approach. She didn't know he was there until a hand touched her shoulder and a beloved and well-known voice said her name.
"Caroline."
For a moment she thought it was just her wishful thinking. She hadn't heard a wagon or horse. So late at night, she couldn't believe he would have walked all the way from town.
Opening her eyes, she turned and asked, "Charles?"
He was there, the moonlight settling in his bronze hair and turning it to silver, his green eyes catching the light and sparking with their familiar emerald fire.
"Oh, Charles!" she said as she flung herself into his arms.
The tears came next.
Her husband held her tightly, shushing her and cooing in her ear. "It's all right, Caroline. I'm here. I'm safe."
She hugged him tightly. "But how? Did you walk?"
He laughed. "No, I ran into Isaiah in town. He brought me most of the way." Charles paused. "I wanted to surprise you."
Caroline looked up. She frowned as if hurt, and batted his arm. "Charles Ingalls, if you aren't the orneriest man I have ever known!"
He shrugged. "I can go back to town and get a horse and come in proper if you want."
She just looked at him.
It was then she saw the cut on his head. Reaching up, she touched it. "Charles, what happened?"
"It's nothin'. Just a little crease from a bullet," he said as if he were talking about a paper cut.
"A bullet!" Her eyes went wide. "Who shot at you? Are you all right? Is there any – mmmpphhh." A second later she sucked in air from the kiss he had planted on her lips to silence her. It didn't work. "I want to know if you are in any danger, and –"
Her husband pressed a finger to her lips. He glanced back at the house. "Are the girls asleep?"
She frowned. He was evading her. "Yes. Why?"
"I'm just dyin' to tell you everythin' that happened, Mrs. Ingalls, and I'll do that in the mornin', I promise." Charles stretched, working his arms to each side. She couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled in the moonlight. "Right now, I'd like to get some sleep." One of his dark eyebrows cocked at a rascally angle. "Or somethin'."
Men, she thought.
Caroline linked her arm in Charles and she didn't even scold him when his hand dropped to the back of her dress and he gave a little squeeze.
But then, that was what she was thinking about too.
i Charles' speech is adapted from one given by Judge William Wicks, 1824, at the trial of a group of men accused of murdering a family of Indians in what was known until recently as the Fall Creek Massacre. The trial took place in Pendleton, IN, and the result was the first time justice was seen for the red man in a United States Court. The man who made this happen was John Johnston, Federal Indian Agent, Piqua OH.