EPILOGUE
The next morning Charles rose early and was at his chores before the sun was up. Isaiah had done well by them, but there were things that needed doin' with summer coming on. He'd left Caroline sleeping, noting as he did that she looked like an angel with her golden hair splayed out over the pillows. He'd left the house as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake the girls any sooner than needed. He'd slipped up to their room the night before after he and Caroline had finished to check on them. Mary slept right through his visit, but he'd found Laura awake. She was miserable with a cold. His little girl had given him a hug and told him that him bein' home was the best cure she could have.
He'd have to check with Doc Baker on that one.
It was funny, comin' home after what he'd seen and done. In some ways, it felt like he'd never left. There was nothin' to indicate that Alan, or Alowan as he'd come to call him, had ever been on their land. Nothin' to show that the boy's father had returned, or that Jack Lame Horse was a free man. Charles paused. He smiled as he leaned on the handle of his pitchfork. And he was free. Like Edwin Grey said, Judge Winters had been a fair man. He'd decided that Abraham Lincoln's pardon superseded any lower court ruling and turned the native loose. Marshal Brush had volunteered to take Lame Horse into the hills, so they could be sure no one would try to overturn the judge's ruling with a gun. Charles had volunteered to go with him, but Brush had refused. He hadn't seen it, but the marshal had.
He'd been a sick man.
It was why it took him so long to get home. The infection he was carryin' had finally caught up with him and he'd had to fight off a fever that tried to take him home to Jesus. He doubted he would ever tell Caroline and hoped no one else would come along who would. It couldn't change what had happened and it would only scare her. He was fine now, though he still felt weak.
He wasn't about to tell her that either.
As he began to pitch hay again, he heard the door to the house slam. He knew what was comin'. One or all of his girls were awake and they were coming out to find him. As he stepped forward, something moved and he almost fell. Looking down he recognized the feisty little runt kitten Laura had named 'Peanut'. As he laughed and bent to pick up the mewling bundle of fluff, Charles remembered the words he had spoken to his daughter on that day, long ago, when he was sure the kitten would die.
"There's no way to say, Half-pint. It looks like it might be up to Peanut. He'll have to fight every inch of the way, Half-pint, and he'll probably need your help. Even at that, he may still not make it. He's gotta have a will to survive. You can't know what's inside an animal until it shows."
Or inside a man.
Alowan was kind of like that scrawny, determined kitten. The boy had had to fight every inch of the way and there was no tellin' what kind of a man he would make. Havin' his father back had to help and maybe – just maybe – knowin' him had helped a little bit too. Jefferson Brush told him that both Sota and Alowan had been waitin' for Jack Lame Horse when he took him up into the mountains. It wasn't legal, but the lawman had let them go.
With a grandfather and father like that, the boy had a fightin' chance.
"Pa!" Laura's voice rang out. His name was followed by a sneeze and another, "Pa!"
Dropping the kitten Charles turned just in time to be nearly knocked over by his middle daughter. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed so tight, if it had been his chest, he wouldn't have been able to breathe.
"Oh, Pa! You are home! I thought I'd dreamed it!" she declared.
Charles reached down to touch her downy hair. "I'm home, Half-pint, and I ain't goin' anywhere for a long while."
"You promise?"
He loosed her arms and knelt to her level. "If I have anything to say about it."
Laura was staring at him. She reached up to touch the cut on his forehead. "You're hurt, Pa."
"I'm fine."
His daughter wasn't buyin' it. "Are you tellin' the truth?"
Now, how did a man answer that?
He twitched his lips. "Mostly."
She leaned in and planted a kiss on the wound. "There. That'll make it all better. Then you won't have to tell Ma."
Charles grinned at her and then, without warning, scooped the little girl up and into his arms. As Laura giggled, he began to carry her toward the house.
He stopped when he saw the three visitors who had silently arrived.
Grandfather, father, and son.
Charles placed Laura's feet on the ground and pointed her toward the door. "Go inside."
"But Pa!" She was waving. "It's only Mister Lame Horse."
"You do what I tell you."
Laura frowned. "Yes, sir."
She could have moved faster, but at least she moved. Once she was inside and the door was closed behind her, Charles turned to the natives. He was sure they had nothing to fear from them, but he wasn't about to allow harm to come to one of his family – just in case he was wrong.
"Jack," he said with a nod. "Sota." Charles' gaze went to the young man seated on the right of the older man. "Alowan."
The boy glanced at the older men. When they nodded, he slipped off his horse and approached him. The boy was dressed as a native now, in buckskins. There were feathers in his hair and he wore a bone breastplate. Some people would have thought that made him look wild, but to Charles', the boy had never looked so at peace.
"Mister Ingalls," he said stiffly.
He shook his head. "Call me Charles. After all, we almost died together."
Alowan's eyes went to his throat. The scars of the boy's attack were still there. That was something else he was going to have to explain to Caroline. She'd missed them the night before.
"You almost died because I almost killed you." The boy paused. "Because I meant to kill you."
"You were angry," he countered. "You had every right to be."
"No. I did not." Alowan looked at his father and grandfather and then turned back. "I was...as you said...as bad as the men I hated. I believed that, because a few white men wanted to destroy my people, all white men deserved to pay." He drew a breath and puffed it out. "I was wrong."
Charles nodded. "Yes, you were."
The boy's eyes widened. His jaw tightened and he nodded again. "I have come to make amends before my father and grandfather and I go north, into Canada."
He shook his head. "There's no need."
"There is need!" the boy all but shouted. Then he seemed to regain his control. "I have nothing to give you, Charles Ingalls. No sweet grass or wampum, no pipe of peace to smoke. I..." He hesitated. "I wanted to work for you, to pay my debt, but my grandfather tells me this is not wise as I would bring harm to you and yours."
Sadly, it was true.
Charles looked toward the house as Caroline stepped out of the door. Her eyes went to the Indians and then returned to him. He smiled at her, assuring her everything was all right.
Alowan paused and then continued, "And so I give you this, words you know that I have written now in my heart. "'But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.'" Alowan cleared his throat. "These are the words of the Great Father, the Creator of us all, taught to me by my grandfather."
Charles eyes flicked to Jack Lame Horse. He'd never considered the fact that the man might be a Christian.
Now that he thought of it, it explained just about everything.
Charles held his hand out to the young man. "Thank you, Alowan. That's the greatest gift you could give me."
The boy smiled. He actually smiled.
"I am honored to have known you, Charles Ingalls. And I am...forever in your debt."
Alowan had teared up and choked. Charles pretended not to see. Then he watched as the Indian boy returned to his horse. A moment later he and his father turned and rode away. Jack Lame Horse did not follow. Instead he came toward him.
The older man halted his horse and stared down at him. Then he did something that astonished Charles.
He spoke.
In English.
"Do you know what my grandson's name means?" he asked.
It took a moment for him to find his voice. "No."
"Alowan. It is Sioux for 'prayer song'. Thank you, Charles Ingalls, for helping my son's son to find that song again."
A moment later he was gone.
Charles stood there, unsure of what to do, until his wife came to him and took his hand. She reached up and wiped away a tear that had trailed down his cheek.
"I guess what they say is true," he whispered. "God moves in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform."
She nodded. "Breakfast is ready."
Charles slipped his arm around his wife's slender waist. The girls were waiting for him to bless the food before they could eat. He hoped they would be able to wait.
It was gonna be one long prayer of thanks.