FOUR

Caroline Ingalls was up and about her chores, but her mind wasn't on them. It was five in the morning and so far, Charles had not returned.

Her bed had felt very empty the night before.

Christmas Eve day had dawned bright and beautiful, revealing just how much snow had fallen the night before. If it hadn't been for the fact that her husband – and two young boys – were out in it, she would have marveled at its beauty. God's majesty showed in all of his work, but never more so than at dawn and dusk. Outside her window was a sea of white; its waves capped with rose-gold. Snow clung to the trees and lay like a thick frosting on the barn and their other outbuildings. When the light caught it just right, it flashed like diamonds. And it was silent. Completely silent.

Which left her with too much time to think.

She knew her husband was an experienced woodsman. She also knew that she was to trust in God. 'Nothing will happen that God does not permit or allow,' she reminded herself again as she put on a pot of coffee in the expectation that her husband would walk through their front door at any minute. The trouble was – and she had learned this at an early age when the answer to several of her very important prayers was 'no' – God didn't always want the same thing she did. God's purpose was so much wider and broader than their own. He worked their lives with eternity in mind, not today or tomorrow – or even next year. God's pursuit was His glory and sometimes that meant that those who belonged to Him had to endure and have faith.

In spite of everything.

As her fingers closed on the sugar jar, Caroline paused and let out a sigh. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Sorry", even as a slight smile curled her lips.

Sometimes she felt as young as her children.

As she turned toward the table, the blond woman paused. Someone was rolling into the yard. With her heart in her throat, she rushed to the door and threw it open. Disappointment mixed with joy. It wasn't Charles. It was Isaiah Edwards. The mountain man was already jumping down from his wagon and reaching in the back.

"Mornin' Caroline!" he said cheerfully as he approached her sack in hand.

"Good morning, Isaiah."

"Did I make it afore the girls are up?"

She nodded. "They're all still asleep."

Isaiah held the sack out. "Since we're gonna be gone this year on Christmas, I wanted to bring their presents out." He winked. "You can just tell them they're from Santa."

As she took the sack, Caroline said, "You spoil them, you know?"

The mountain man looked startled. He drew in a big gulp of the crisp morning air. "I don't nose me nothin' rotten." He laughed and then looked toward the barn. "Charles up and at it already? I might as well wish him a merry Christmas while I'm here."

Her face fell. "Charles isn't here. He went out last night looking for a little lost boy." Her eyes went to the snow, which was beginning to glisten as the sun melted its crust.

Isaiah's brows climbed toward his slouch hat. "How long's he been gone?"

"Oh, about a day. He and Golden Caughey took off in the morning yesterday."

"Who's missin'?"

"Golden's little brother. Charlie."

Isaiah pulled at the whiskers on his chin. He looked toward the road and frowned. Then he looked at her again. "You want I should go try and find them?"

"I can't ask you to do that," she replied. "It's Christmas Eve Day and you're leaving town."

"Well, I'm gonna have me a hard time doin' that if I don't know my best friend is safe and sound."

Tears filled her eyes and threatened to fall. "Thank you."

"Which way were they headin'?"

"Golden and Charlie got into a fight. Charlie told his brother that he was going to go to Mankato to find their older brother."

"Mankato? And Charlie's what? Seven or eight?"

Caroline sighed. "About that. He's such a little boy." She looked at the waves of snow again. "I hope he's all right."

Isaiah took a step toward her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Now, don't you worry none about that boy or Charles. I'll find 'em! What with the snow letting up, shouldn't be too hard or take too long. Now, you go back into the house before you freeze." He nodded toward the sack in her hands. "And get those presents under the tree!"

One of the tears managed to escape and trail down her cheek.

"I don't know how to thank you, Isaiah."

He thought a moment and then grinned, "How about a hot cup of coffee and a slice of your mince pie when I get back?"

**********

Charles glanced over at Golden where he lay sleeping in the back of the wagon with his arm wrapped around his little brother. They'd found the boy not too long after they found his pony. The good Lord had been watchin' out for him. It hadn't been too long since the boy'd fallen off his horse and the snow cushioned the fall so he wasn't hurt bad. Just bumps and bruises. They'd brought plenty of blankets so, what with sharing their body warmth, the pair was pretty comfortable.

He was miserable.

When his horse threw him, Charlie had been on top of a rise. The fall took him to the bottom. On top of bein' so scared he couldn't move, the boy's clothing had gotten all twisted up in a bramble bush and he couldn't get free. Golden had wanted to go down the hill after him, but Charles didn't want two wounded boys to look after, so he went down himself. The rise was pretty treacherous to descend, what with the recent snowfall and the ice underneath. On top of that he had his dang shoulder to deal with and it was throbbin' to beat the band. By the time he got the boy out and up the rise, he was plumb worn out himself. Of course, there hadn't been any time to worry about that. Charlie was half-frozen and the next few hours had been spent workin' on him and makin' sure the little boy would survive. By the time he finally had everything done that had to be done, the light was breaking in the sky. Charles remembered lookin' up, and then wakin' up and realizing that he'd fallen asleep right where he was. Someone, Golden most like, had wrapped a blanket around him and placed another one all rolled up under his head.

The curly-haired man stretched and rolled his shoulder, trying to evaluate the damage. He'd packed the wound and it had finally stopped bleeding, but the wound had left him kind of weak. He needed to get up and break their camp, and then get on the road. Caroline would be more than half out of her mind by now and he didn't want to make her and the girls worry any longer than they had to. He knew he needed food to chase the wooziness out of his head, but that meant getting' up and movin' and at the moment he just didn't have a mind to.

"Mister Ingalls?"

Charles started. He blinked. "Golden," he said. "How's your brother?"

"Charlie's still sleeping," the boy replied. He paused and then asked, "Mister Ingalls, are you all right?"

He must have looked a sight.

"I'm right as rain. Just have a little pain in my shoulder where Seamus rested his hooves."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

Golden frowned as he asked, "Would you like me to break the camp?"

Charles looked at the fire. It needed put out. He'd thought about getting up to do that, but the more he stared at the flames, the less he thought he could.

"Mister Ingalls," the boy said, sounding a bit like his pa used to, "I think you oughta get in the wagon with Charlie. You're sick."

Charles rose slowly to his feet. "There's nothin' wrong with me that a day by the fire and a good night's sleep won't cure," he said as he took a step.

And then the world tilted to the right.

Golden caught him and steadied him. The boy looked up at him and grinned. "I hear tell you're a God-fearing man, Mister Ingalls. Don't you know it's a sin to tell a lie?"

He liked this boy. Maybe he'd let Mary see him after all.

"Gol-dangit, Charles! If'n you don't look like somethin' the cat dragged in," a cheerful voice announced.

Charles started and then looked to the east. The dawn's light was breaking through the trees and it fell on a wagon parked in the middle of the road. Sitting on the wagon's seat was a very familiar – and very welcome – man wearing a dark coat over a flannel shirt and blue janes.

Isaiah jumped down and came over to them. The mountain man placed his hands on his hips and looked him up and down, not failing to note the bloody bandage on his shoulder.

He let out a sigh.

"Seems like I'm gonna have to tell Caroline she's not allowed to let you out of the house anymore."

The girls were up and about their chores when two wagons rolled into the yard of the Ingalls' home. The first contained Golden and his brother Charlie, who were bunched together on its seat. Behind the wagon trailed a white pony with a gray mane. The second, coming more slowly, held Isaiah Edwards and his friend.

Charles was in the back.

Isaiah drew a breath and held it as he pulled his team to a halt and waited for the wave to hit.

The wave of worried women.

Even as he leapt from the seat and headed for the back of the wagon, the door to Charles' house opened and his little half-pint stepped out. Laura looked at Golden and Charlie and then saw him – and then her Pa struggling to get up.

"Ma!" she called. "Ma! Come quick! Pa's hurt!"

You might as well have opened the gate and let the horses fly.

Mary joined Laura quicker than a flea leapin' out of danger, and the pair of them was headed for the back of the wagon. Caroline stood on the porch, holding their little one and lookin' like she'd see'd a ghost.

Isaiah held up his hand as the girls scrambled into the wagon. "Hold on now! Hold on! Give the man some room."

Charles had managed to make it to the edge of the wagon bed and was sittin' there, gatherin' his strength.

"It ain't as bad as it looks," Isaiah assured them. "Your Pa's just worn out."

"What happened?" Caroline asked as she came alongside him.

"Mister Ingalls got hurt lookin' for Charlie," Golden Caughey said. He was on the ground now, holdin' his little brother by the hand. "Seamus got scared and kicked him in the shoulder. I did what I could to get the bleeding stopped."

Caroline paled even more. "Mary! Come take your sister."

Charles was concentratin' on what he was doing, but he managed to say, "Caroline, I'm fine. I'm just…tired."

Her eyes were on the bandage on his shoulder. "Since when has being tired made a man bleed?" the blonde woman snapped, worry makin' her angry.

"I boiled some snow and cleaned the wound out and bandaged it the best I could, Mrs. Ingalls," Golden assured her. At Charles look, he added, "You were kind of out of it, Mister Ingalls."

Caroline's worry sort of rose with that, like the temperature.

"Isaiah," she said, as she took hold of her husband's good arm, "will you help me get Charles inside where I can take a look at that wound?"

"I can…do it myself," Charles groused as he shook free – and then he stumbled.

Isaiah had seen this scene play out before. He knew his friend and knew how stubborn he was, but if there was one person who was even more stubborn, it was Caroline – especially when it came to takin' care of her man.

"I'd give in, Charles," he said almost under his breath. "This is one battle you ain't gonna win."

Charles shot him a look.

"How about if we help you, Pa? Would that be all right?" Mary asked as she and her sister jumped down from the wagon.

His friend looked at his two young'uns, one on either side of him.

"Yeah, Pa. Let us help you," Laura echoed.

Them two, with their little cherubic faces, done sunk the ship.

He didn't know if sittin' in front of the fire in his own home had ever felt so good.

Charles shifted his shoulder. It felt better now that the wound had been cleaned properly and bandaged. He had a little bit of fever, but that was to be expected. He'd lost some blood and been a night with it bein' kind of fiery. Caroline had done enough scolding for a whole class of school children before she gave him a big hug and finally admitted how scared she'd been. He loved that woman fiercely and he knew it was the same with her, but there were times when he wondered if she wouldn't have been happier married to a man who lived in a town, who went to work every day and came home the same time every night, safe and sound. Livin' in the wilderness was hard on a woman. Harder than on a man. A man was busy doin'.

All a woman could do was wait.

It was real early in the day, probably around four in the mornin'. Christmas had arrived. They'd had a little celebration the night before, but it was nothin' like other years. He couldn't play the fiddle on account of what Charlie's pony had done to his shoulder and, truth to tell, he was just too tired anyhow. He knew he should be asleep, but he'd taken a late nap and now, was wide awake. It was kind of selfish of him. Sittin' here, broodin'. He should go back to bed. He needed to be there for his family.

As he sat there, ruminating on all that had happened and why the good Lord had let it happen, there was a stirring in the shadows and a small figure appeared. Golden and Charlie were sharin' Carrie's room. His littlest had gone up into the loft to sleep with her sisters. Instead of one of his little girls, a small boy appeared, rubbing his eyes.

"It's awful early, Charlie," he said. "You oughta be asleep."

"Is it Christmas?"

He nodded. "Yep."

The boy's face fell. "I didn't get the present," he said, his words so soft he nearly missed them.

He'd asked Isaiah to go by the old Jenkins place on the way home the night before and to come back and tell him if, well, if the worst had happened. Since the mountain man didn't appear, he guessed the boy's ma was still living.

The boy must be thinkin' of her.

"I bet you and your brother comin' home safe will be the best present there is."

Charlie seemed to think it over. The boy twisted his lips and then looked straight at him with the widest deepest brown eyes he'd ever seen.

"Will you take me to town, Mister Ingalls?"

He shifted to ease the pain in his shoulder. "Whatever for?"

"I need to go to the store. I need to get a pair of shoes for Jesus."

Charles blinked. Then he laughed, thinking of the place in the Good Book where it said Jesus could have had ten thousand angels if he'd wanted them.

"Son," he said softly, "I think Jesus has all the shoes he needs."

"They ain't for Jesus."

His head was hurtin'. "But, you just said…."

"Mama likes to dance. She's gonna need new shoes for Jesus. I gotta get them!" Tears were trailing down the boy's cheeks. "Please!"

Charles shifted forward and called the boy over with a wave. When Charlie was close enough, he took him by both shoulders. As he did, Charles thought of his own girls – what it would be like if they were facing what this boy was, losin' one or the other of them; watchin' them die a slow agonizing death.

"Son, tell me plain what it is you think you need to do."

Charlie drew in a breath and held it for a moment. Then he let it out with a shake of his curly head. "Before she got sick, Mama loved to dance. She'd dance while she was cookin' and doin' chores – even when she was feedin' the chickens! You never seen anybody could dance like her." The boy's tone became wistful. "Then, when she got sick, she couldn't dance no more. Before he went away, Wells said God knew how much Mama likes to dance and so he sent her an invitation to come dance with him, maybe for Christmas, but for sure by the New Year." A tear trailed down the boy's face. "Mama don't have no dance shoes anymore and she's gonna need a new pair to dance with Jesus. Will you take me to town to get her a new pair?"

Charles' heart was breaking.

"Charlie," a soft voice said.

He sucked in the tears and turned to find his wife standing next to the kitchen table.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Charlie asked.

Caroline moved forward. She had something in her hands.

It was her Sunday shoes.

"Do you think these would do for your mama?"

The little boy stared at them, his eyes wide with wonder. He'd bought those shoes for Caroline in Mankato about a year back. It took all the money he'd made from building a cabinet for one of Walnut Grove's wealthier citizens. Money he should have spent on somethin' else, like food. The boots were white with real pearl buttons, with gold trim runnin' up the sides. His wife had scolded him for buying them, but also told him that she felt like a queen when she was wearin' them.

"Are they dance shoes?" the little boy asked, sniffing.

"Oh, yes," Caroline said. "When I put on these shoes, I feel like I'm flying." She smiled. "If you like, you can have them for your mama."

He'd told her the night before about the boys' lie and about the woman who was dying.

Slowly, step by step, Charlie approached Caroline. He held out his hands as she knelt and then handed him the shoes. The boy hugged them to his chest and…

Smiled.

It took his wife about five minutes to return Charlie to his bed. After she did, Caroline came out and sat at his feet. Looking up at him, she asked, "Do you mind, Charles? I…" She sucked in air. "My heart was breaking. I had to…."

He leaned forward and placed a finger to her lips. "I love you, Caroline Ingalls, do you know that?"

She took his hand. "I love you, Charles."

The curly-haired man smiled. He stood up and then pulled his wife up after him. As she laid her head on his shoulder, he began to move, gently swaying from side to side.

As the two of them danced with Jesus and thanked him for everything they had.

EPILOGUE

Charles was sitting in his chair, reading a book, when a knock came on the door. It was mid-afternoon on New Year's Day and he'd managed to find a moment of peace. The girls and Caroline had gone to visit friends. He was alone in the house, a condition that was about as rare as a snake risin' up off the ground and walkin' away on two legs. Laying the book down, he headed for the door just as a second knock came.

When he opened it, he was surprised to find Golden Caughey and his little brother standing in the yard.

They hadn't seen the boys for near a week. Isaiah had run them home that day since he was feelin' poorly. He and Caroline had visited a few days after that. Mrs. Caughey, her name was Bridget, was in a bad way. It was plain as the nose on your face that she only had a short time to live. She was pale and weak, but her eyes were bright when she spoke of her boys and her hopes for their future. Bridget said her oldest, Wells, was scared. He didn't want to be a pa at seventeen, but she was sure he would step up and do what he had to do once she was gone. He and Caroline promised to look out for the boys as best they could; to check up on them and make sure they had what they needed so long as they lived in Walnut Grove. After that, he'd backed away and left Caroline to speak to the dying woman. Not quite sure what to do, he moved around the house, noting how spare it was and mentally making a list of what they could bring them. As he turned back toward the bedroom where Bridget was, he saw the shoes. He didn't know how he'd missed it. They were sittin' on the floor at the end of the bed, tucked a little ways under it.

His eyes had filled with tears then as they did now.

Golden was holdin' the white boots.

"My brother and I wanted to give these back, Mister Ingalls," he said with a glance at Charlie. "Ma don't need them anymore. She passed last night."

Charles drew in a breath. Words were so feeble at a time like this.

"I'm right sorry to hear that, Golden." He looked at the little boy. "Charlie. I'm sorry for your loss."

Charlie looked up at him and surprised him by smiling. "You don't need to be, Mister Ingalls, Ma got the best Christmas present there was."

"Oh?"

Golden's smile was thoughtful. "Ma told us, right before she passed, that she could see the pearly gates and the streets paved with gold. She told Charlie her spirit was goin' to be with Jesus and she was takin' the spirit of her dancin' shoes with her."

"Ma sure was lookin'forward to dancing on those golden streets," Charlie said wistfully.

Charles blinked back tears. He walked to Golden and took the shows from him, and then knelt and offered them to Charlie.

"Caroline and I want you to keep these," he said.

"What for, Mister Ingalls?" the little boy asked. "Ma don't need them no more."

A tear escaped to trail down his cheek. "As a gift and a reminder."

"What will they remind me of?"

"Your Ma, for one, but most of all, they'll remind you of Heaven. You'll grow up, Charlie. When you do, you're gonna have temptations and choices and maybe, just maybe you'll look back on your ma dyin' early and get angry. If that happens, I want you to look at these shoes and remember, no matter how hard life is, if you keep walkin' that golden road, there's a joy beyond all earthly pleasures that comes at the end."

Charlie looked at Golden and then back to him.

"You mean, I get to dance with Jesus too?" the little boy asked.

Charles reached out and gathered him into his arms, crushing the shoes between them.

"You sure do, son. And I can tell you, it's gonna be quite a party!"

That night in bed Caroline rolled over and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Charles, are you awake?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

"I can't stop thinkin' about those little boys all alone at the Jenkins place."

He'd gone with them to their house. Wells was there. He was diggin' a grave to put his mama in. Neither of them said anything, but he'd fallen to helpin' him and stayed as the boys said goodbye to their ma and they lowered her into the ground. He'd told Caroline when he got home that he'd promised Wells he'd send the Reverend Alden out the next day and the boy had agreed. He'd also offered to help and been surprised when the older boy accepted. Though, Wells didn't look old. He looked like a boy who had lost his ma. Pride was a curse and he knew it, because he struggled with it too. The boy seemed willing to let them help, so maybe some good would come of it after all.

"I know, darlin'," he said as he rolled over to look at her. "We'll do what we can."

"I wish I could take care of them."

He laughed. "Caroline Ingalls, you'd take care of the whole world if you could."

She batted his arm. "Oh, be quiet."

"They got their brother and I think this may be the making of him."

She let out a little sigh. "God works in mysterious ways."

He'd thought about that a lot the last few days. He remembered when he'd climbed up into that tree to get the girls' kite When he'd fallen out of it, he'd been a stranger in Walnut Grove. By the time he healed, he knew he had the gift of neighbors. And there was that time when he got shot accidentally while hunting. He'd watched Laura mature since then in ways that were hard to explain. Everything, it seemed, had a reason and a purpose under the sun.

A man just had to cling to that and believe it.

"Charles?"

He'd fallen silent. His wife was probably wondering why.

"Yes?"

"If God…. Well, if I should die before the girls are grown, I want you to know that it would be all right with me if you remarried."

He sat up in the bed and looked at her. "What?"

"I can't help thinking about it, what with Bridget's passing." She was looking right at him and was sincere. "I want you to be happy."

Happy? A life without Caroline Quiner Ingalls at his side?

"I'm happy now," he said.

"Yes, but sometimes God has other plans."

He stared at her a minute and then pulled her close and held her – living and breathing – in his arms. "I'm just gonna pray that God doesn't ask that of me," he said softly.

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I'd rather die before you," she confessed. "Charles, I don't know what I would do without you."

He frowned. "You know what, I think tomorrow I am going to go over to the Jenkins place and get those boots."

She looked up at him. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I got my own, but yours are missin', and you're gonna need them when we dance up that golden road together."

"Dancing with Jesus?" she asked. "Will there be enough room?"

He leaned down and kissed her.

"You know, I'm sure God made that golden road plenty wide for the three of us."

The end