LITTLE HOUSE ON ROCKY RIDGE

by Roger Lea MacBride
BOOK JACKET INFORMATION

LITTLE HOUSE ON
ROCKY RIDGE

From the time of the first publication of the Little House
books in the 1930's and 40's, millions of
readers have grown up with Laura Ingalls and her
sisters as Pa led the family from the Big
Woods of Wisconsin across the plains and
Indian country to South Dakota. There Laura
marries Almanzo Wilder, and after years of
drought and fire destroy their farm, the Wilders
must now look for a new future.
When Rose Wilder is seven years old,
she and her mama--Laura--and her papa--
Almanzo--set off on a journey that will take
them across a landscape Laura hasn't seen
since she traveled it as a child: back through the
Dakota territory, Nebraska, and
Kansas, and finally to Missouri, the land of the
Big Red Apple.
Each day offers a new adventure to Rose as
the Wilders travel dust-covered roads past
drought-hit farms, covered wagons full of
hopeful families searching, like they are, and
prosperous towns touched by a new age of
progress--tram lines, electricity, and even
telephones.
As autumn approaches, Mansfield,
Missouri, greets the Wilders. It is a land
offering more than Mama, Papa, and Rose ever
hoped for. The purchase of Rocky Ridge
Farm marks the end of their search and the beginning of a
rich, full new life--a new home and the
promise of hard work, but also wondrous
discoveries and adventures enough to fill a
childhood.

The late Rose Wilder Lane grew up,
like her mother, to be a novelist. She wrote the
introduction to ON THE WAY HOME,
Mrs. Wilder's diary of the journey she,
Almanzo, and Rose took from South Dakota
to Mansfield, Missouri, in 1894. She is
also the author of LET THE HURRICANE
ROAR.

Roger Lea MacBride is Rose
Wilder Lane's adopted grandson. He is the
editor of WEST FROM HOME: Letters
of Laura Ingalls Wilder, San
Francisco 1915 and ROSE WILDER
LANE: Her Story and was an active
participant in the creation of the television shows
Little House on the Prairie and Young
Pioneers. Mr. MacBride divides his
time between Naples, Florida, and Biddeford
Pool, Maine.

THE LITTLE HOUSE BOOKS
By Laura Ingalls Wilder

Little House in the Big Woods
Little House on the Prairie
Farmer Boy
On the Banks of Plum Creek
By the Shores of Silver Lake
The Long Winter
Little Town on the Prairie
These Happy Golden Years
The First Four Years



OTHER BOOKS BY
LAURA INGALLS WILDER

On the Way Home (with Rose Wilder
Lane)
West From Home (edited by Roger Lea
MacBride)
A Little House Sampler (edited by William
Anderson)
A Little House Sampler Cassette (read
by Judy Collins)

BOOKS ABOUT
LAURA INGALLS WILDER

Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Biography
by William Anderson
The Laura Ingalls Wilder Songbook
compiled by Eugenia Garson, illustrated
by Garth Williams
The Little House Cookbook by Barbara M.
Walker, illustrated by Garth Williams
Laura Ingalls Wilder Country
by William Anderson, photographs
by Les Kelly










For Joe Coday
A dear friend to three generations of the
"Little House" family
and great citizen of
Mansfield, Gem City of the Ozarks









LITTLE HOUSE ON
ROCKY RIDGE

A Big Surprise

Rose jumped to her feet so fast, her stool
toppled over. The book she was reading slid off
her lap. Before she could grab it, it hit the
floor with a loud thud.
Grandma Ingalls' head jerked up in
surprise, and she laid down her sewing.
"Gracious, child! You startled me."
"It's Mama!" Rose shouted. "I can hear
her whistling!"
Grandma leaned forward to hear better. "So it
is," she said. "Where did the time get to? Run
and wake Aunt Mary from her nap while I put
the kettle up for tea."
It had been hard for Rose to be good that day.
Mama had promised a surprise when she and
Papa came from work. Rose had tried to guess
what it might be.
"Is it a dog?" she had asked Grandma.
Ever since Nero, the big black Saint
Bernard, had gotten sick and died, Rose had
wanted another dog more than anything. But Grandma
wouldn't tell.
Rose was so distracted by her curiosity that she
had stitched her quilt pieces backward. She
had spilled her milk, even though she was seven
and a half years old. She had read the same
page in The Adventures of Robinson
Crusoe over and over and promptly forgotten every
word!
She rapped on the closed bedroom door.
"Aunt Mary, get up. Grandma is making
tea," she called out. Rose ran back across the
dining room to the open parlor window. The sweet
spring air poured into the room, tangling the thin
white curtains.
Rose could hear birds singing their hearts out.
But clearer than them all was the sound of Mama's
whistling. Grandma often teased Mama for being
unladylike. "Whistling girls and crowing hens
always come to some bad ends, Laura," Grandma would
say.
But Rose didn't care about Mama being
unladylike. Mama whistled when she was happy,
so hearing her always cheered Rose up. Not even a
bird in spring could whistle like Mama. She
whistled clear and sweet, trilling,
chirping, or sometimes dropping the notes one by one,
as a meadowlark drops them from the sky.
Rose spotted Mama walking with Papa.
She held her skirt up from the dusty street and
her bonnet swung on her back.
Rose greeted them at the door and got a
big hug from Papa.
"Grandma's in the kitchen," Rose said. "And
Grandpa went to see Mr. Boast." She looked
for a dog but didn't see one. The surprise must
be in Papa's pocket. But Rose couldn't see
any bulges.
"Grandma made something special," said
Rose. She took Mama's hand and pulled her
into the kitchen. On the table was a platter of
golden-brown pastries.
"Oh, Ma," said Mama. "You made vanity
cakes."
Aunt Mary came downstairs and they all
sat down at the kitchen table. Grandma poured
tea for the grown-ups, and then she poured Rose a
glass of cold milk.
Rose had never eaten a vanity cake. It was
still warm when she bit into it. It was crunchy on the
outside, but it wasn't sweet like cake. And
inside it was air; just a bubble that disappeared the
minute she put the cake in her mouth. Rose
thought it was very clever, and delicious.
"These are perfect," Mama said. "Just the way
you made them when we were little."
Rose tried to be patient, and not speak
until spoken to, as they finished the rest of the
cakes. Finally she couldn't wait another moment.
"Mama," she said, "what about the surprise?"
Mama's violet-blue eyes sparkled
mischievously. "Well, it's a very big
surprise," she said, glancing at Grandma.
"Papa and I thought we should wait until after
supper."
"Oh, no!" Rose begged. "Tell me now.
Please?"
"I suppose now is as good a time as any,"
Papa said. "How would you like to go on a trip,
Rose?"
"The surprise is a trip?" Rose looked
at Mama in astonishment.
"Yes," said Mama. "A long trip.
To Missouri."
"Missouri?" Rose had heard of Missouri
one Sunday, when she played with Paul
Cooley and his brother George. The railroad
company was selling land in Missouri. It had
given their papa a free ride to go see it.
Mr. Cooley had brought back pictures of
mountains and forests printed on shiny smooth paper.
He had brought a huge apple from an orchard
there. Mr. Cooley said those mountains and forests were
called The Land of the Big Red Apple.
"Papa and I have decided to take you
to Missouri," Mama said. "We will drive there,
just as I traveled with Grandma and Grandpa when I
was a little girl--in a wagon with the mares and
colts."
Mama smiled and Papa twisted an end of his
mustache. They looked at Rose, waiting for her
to speak. But she didn't know what to say.
"Is it far?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yes, a long way from Dakota--er, South
Dakota," Papa said. "I keep forgetting it
is a state now. It will take us most of the summer
to get there."
"Most of the summer?" Rose was shocked. What
about Sunday dinners at Grandma and Grandpa's?
How could she fetch ice cream from Barker's for
Mrs. Sherwood and her sister? They always let
her share. Then Rose shot a glance at Aunt
Mary, Mama's blind sister, who now sat
quietly, her hands folded in her lap. Aunt
Mary had promised to teach Rose how to read
Braille.
So many questions crowded into Rose's head, she
wanted to ask them all at once. "Why are we
going to Missouri? Are Grandma and Grandpa going
with us? Are we going for long?"
Grandma's chair scraped on the floor as she
got up to stir the coals in the cookstove.
"We're going to Missouri to live," Mama
said gently. "We're going to make a new home
there. But Grandma and Grandpa will stay here."
"But ... why?" Rose asked. "Why do we have
to go to Missouri? Why can't we stay here?"
"It's the drought, Rose," said Papa. "The
prairie is turning to dust. People can't stay in a
place praying for rain that never comes. Sometimes they
must take matters into their own hands."
"In Missouri there is plenty of good
water," Mama added. "And the winter is warmer,
too. You know how Papa's legs ache so in the
cold. Missouri is a new chance for us,
Rose. To build a future. A
future means a farm, with cows and sheep, and land
for growing crops."
Rose didn't want Papa's legs
to hurt. She wanted her family to have a
future. Two winters had passed since they had
moved into town. Before that, when they lived out on the
homestead claim, there had been crop failures
and bad weather and fire. For a time Mama and
Papa had been dreadfully sick with a disease
Rose could not pronounce: diff-theer-ee-ah.
She had lived with Grandma and Grandpa, until
Mama and Papa were well again.
Finally, when dry weather came to the prairie
one summer and killed the wheat, Mama and Papa
had to give up their homestead claim. The farm was
a failure. Papa sold everything except the
mares to pay their debts. They stayed in their rented
house in town. Mama sewed for the dressmaker
six days a week, for one dollar a day, and
Papa hired out to do odd jobs. Sometimes he
worked as a carpenter. For five weeks he served
on a court jury and slept each night in the
hotel.
"Remember on the homestead, when Trixy's
colts ran free around the barn?" Papa said.
"Remember Mama and me milking Harriet, and
letting you have a drink from the pail?"
Rose nodded.
"Remember kittens and woolly lambs
to play with," asked Mama, "and the beautiful green
grasses all around, waving silvery in the
sunlight?"
Rose remembered. "Will we really have cows and
sheep in Missouri?" she asked.
"Yes," said Papa. "Although perhaps not right
away."
"But why can't Grandma and Grandpa come with us?
And Aunt Mary. And Aunt Carrie and Aunt
Grace?" Rose couldn't stop her voice from
quivering.
Grandma turned from the stove. Her eyes were
glistening. "There now, Rose," she said gently.
"We have many friends here. Why, your grandpa is
Justice of the Peace in De Smet. He was a
founder of this town. We have our own house, and
Aunt Mary to look after. Grandpa and I have
made a future for ourselves right here."
Rose felt a lump rising in her throat.
"Will we come back to visit?"
"Someday," said Mama. Now her eyes
were glistening, too.
"We can always write to each other," Aunt
Mary said cheerfully. "And we will think of you every
day: Absent in body, but present in spirit."
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Rose sniffled
without meaning to.
"Why, Rose Wilder!" Papa said
heartily. "I'm surprised at you. We
haven't even left yet! Going to Missouri will
be an adventure. Just think of all the new
places you'll see along the way! And in
Missouri there are hills and orchards, and
different wild animals. Wait until you see
the trees! And Rose," Papa added, "the
Cooleys are going with us."
"They are?" Rose shouted. "Paul and
George, too?"
"Yes, of course." Mama laughed, and then
everyone was smiling again. "Paul and George,
too."
Rose felt a little better after that. She saw
in the glow on Mama's and Papa's faces that
going to Missouri would be an adventure. It
made them happy just to speak of it. But when Rose
thought of leaving behind Grandma and Grandpa, and her
aunts, she still felt a hollowness inside.

Grandpa's Fiddle

The days were so full of talking and wondering about
their trip that Rose forgot to feel sad. And she
never tired of looking at Mr. Cooley's
pictures of The Land of the Big Red Apple.
There were rows of little trees in one. Another was of
buildings that he said were a town in Missouri
called Mansfield, Gem City of the Ozarks.
"Now I know three Miss states," Rose
told Paul. "Miss-issippi, Miss-consin,
and Miss-ouri."
"It isn't Miss'-consin," Paul said.
He was nearly ten years old and knew a great
many things that Rose did not. "It's
Wis'-consin."
But Rose liked it better her way. To herself
she still said Miss-consin.
Paul was the oldest. George was eight. As
long as she could remember, they had been her friends.
Mr. Cooley owned two big covered
wagons, and two teams of horses to pull them.
Paul said he would drive one of them
to Missouri.
"My pa says I'm old enough now," he
bragged.
Rose could scarcely believe him at first.
She couldn't imagine Paul driving a big team
and wagon like the men in town. But she knew he
wouldn't lie.
Papa and Mama's wagon was only a hack,
with two bench seats. Now that they lived in town,
they drove it mostly on Sundays.
"It's small," Papa said. "But it's
sturdy and reliable."
"Can we really drive in it all that way,
Manly?" Mama asked. Papa's name was
Almanzo, but Mama had nicknamed him
Manly. "How will we ever fit everything in? How
will we stay dry?"
"Don't you worry," said Papa. "I'll
figure a way to beat the weather. And we don't
own enough to fill a prairie schooner anyway. The
fire in the claim shanty fixed that."
First Papa took out the wagon's backseat,
to make room for the beds, trunks, camp stove,
food sacks, folding chairs, and some wooden
boxes. Then he nailed a post at each corner
of the wagon-box. Over the posts he draped and
tacked down a big piece of black oilcloth,
to make a roof.
Then he made oilcloth curtains for the
sides, the front, and back. The curtains
rolled up on ropes. Papa could tie them to the
roof when they weren't needed. At night and in bad
weather, the curtains could be unrolled and tied to the
wagon-box. When the curtains were down, the
wagon became a snug little house on wheels.
Rose helped Papa paint the wagon-box
and the wheels black, to match the curtains and the
roof. Then the wagon gleamed like new in the bright
sun. They all stood back to admire it.
"It'll be a tight fit," Papa said. "But
there's room for our big bed, with enough left over at
one end to make a bed for Rose."
Rose wanted to sleep in it that night, but
Mama said there would be nights enough to sleep in the
wagon on the way to Missouri.
Summer dawned across the prairie.
Fireflies rose from the grass at sunset,
speckling the dusky air with their ghostly lights.
The hard prairie winds blew hot and dry. In
the fields around town the spring wheat that had
shot up so green and hopeful a few weeks
earlier stopped growing. Then it turned brown.
One morning Mama told Rose that it was their
last day in De Smet. Rose helped her
pack the trunks. At noon, after the dinner
dishes had been washed and dried, they packed them
away, too, in a wooden box. Mama tucked
old newspapers between the plates to protect them.
Then Rose helped Mama carefully wrap the
cups. The beautiful willowware china would stay
safely packed until they got to their new
home. They would use tin plates and cups
instead.
That night they all took baths, even though it
wasn't Saturday. Rose wriggled into her best
calico dress. It was red, sprigged with tiny
white flowers that looked like polka dots, and had
a delicate lace collar Grandma had tatted
for her last Christmas. Papa put on his
Sunday suit and combed his hair and mustache. Then
they all walked to Grandma and Grandpa's, being
careful not to scuff their clean shoes or get them
dusty.
Mama's face was radiant in the fading
sunlight. She wore her black cashmere
dress, with the white lace collar and the jet
buttons down the front.
Papa stopped to pick two blossoms from a
thicket of wild roses. He handed one of the pink
flowers to Rose. "One for my little prairie
Rose, who is leaving the prairie," he said.
She held it to her nose and breathed in the sweet,
fresh perfume.
Papa handed the other blossom to Mama. A
smile scampered across her lips and she let out a
tiny sigh.
"What is it, Bess?" Mama's given name
was Laura. That was what everyone else called
her. But Papa called her Bess, for Mama's
middle name, which was Elizabeth.
"I was just thinking: I'm twice as old as I
was when Ma and Pa brought my sisters and me
to Dakota," she said. "There was only grassland
then, as far as you could ride. And plenty of wild
game. If only I had a poet's brain, or
an artist's hand, to preserve those memories
forever."
Rose tried to see the prairie in her mind,
with no town, no dusty streets, no horses
tied to the hitching posts switching their
tails, no people walking, no dogs sleeping in the
yards. But she couldn't imagine how it had looked
when Mama and Papa first came there.

Grandma was cooking when they arrived. She
looked as neat and tidy as she did in church.
Her hair was parted in the middle, plaited, and
wound into a tidy knot at the back of her head.
Into the knot she had stuck her favorite shell
comb.
Rose loved Grandma's comb. Every morning, as
long as she could remember, Grandma had fixed her
hair the same way, then tucked the shell comb
into the knot. But now Rose realized that she
wouldn't be there to see it anymore.
Suddenly she missed Grandma terribly, even
though they hadn't left yet. She wrapped her
arms around Grandma's waist and squeezed hard.
Grandma's warm apron smelled of all the good
things cooking in her kitchen, of pie and bread and
chicken. Rose didn't ever want to let go.
"Goodness!" Grandma said. "A bear couldn't
hug any tighter."
Grandpa came in from feeding his horses. Aunt
Mary stirred the gravy in the pan. Aunt
Grace and Aunt Carrie, Mama's younger
sisters who still lived at home, set the table. The
cozy sounds of clattering plates and ringing
silverware mixed with their bright, laughing voices.
Finally Grandma served the platters and bowls of
steaming food. There was fried chicken, a pitcher of
smooth rich gravy, a bowl of mashed new
potatoes with a golden-brown crust, and a bowl of
bright-green spring peas. And a fresh baking of
bread.
When Grandma was ready to pour the tea, she
glanced at Rose and winked. "You know,
Laura," Grandma said to Mama, "it wouldn't
hurt for once for Rose to try a cup of tea."
"Yes, of course, Ma," said Mama. "After
all, she's getting to be a big girl. And this
is a special occasion."
Rose had wanted to drink tea for the longest
time. When she was little, in the winter, Mama sometimes
let her drink cambric tea, which was hot water
and milk, with only a taste of tea in it. She
had never drunk grown-up tea.
She could hardly be still while Grandma set the
cup on its saucer. She impatiently kicked
her legs as Grandma poured the
golden-colored tea and added a cloud of milk.
Rose took the cup in her hands and carefully
sipped the steaming liquid. It wasn't sweet,
and it wasn't sour. She took another sip.
"Well, Rose," Mama said. "How do you like
it?"
"It tastes like ... tears, I think!" She
put the cup down with a little rattle and made a
face. The grown-ups laughed.
"Maybe it needs a little sugar," Grandma
said. She stirred in a spoonful of brown sugar.
Rose sipped again, but then she didn't drink
any more. She didn't see why grown-ups liked
tea so well.
The talk around the table grew quieter. Mama
touched Aunt Mary's hand as she spoke to her.
Papa spoke to Grandpa in a quiet,
respectful way, not hale and hearty as usual.
And Grandma kept looking at Rose and asking
her did she have enough to eat?
Rose thought about no more suppers at
Grandma's. Her eyes stung. A hard lump
rose in her throat. She was glad she didn't
have to speak.
After the dishes were cleared, the family went out
on the narrow front porch. Gentle breezes
brought the sweet smell of warm grass. The
only light came from the faint starshine.
Then Mama said to Grandpa, "Pa, would you
play for us, one more time?"
"Why, yes, if you want me to," Grandpa
said. "Run and get my fiddle, Laura."
Mama brought the fiddle box and laid it in
Grandpa's lap. He took the fiddle out and
twanged the strings with his thumb, tuning them up.
He rubbed rosin on the bow.
Rose could see the glimmer of Grandpa's
eyes and his long beard lying dark against the white of
his shirt. His arm lifted the bow, and out of the shadows
came the trembling voice of the fiddle, happy and
strong and reaching. Then it was quiet again.
Grandpa tightened a string and twanged it.
"Well," he finally said. "What shall I play?
You first, Laura."
"Let Mary choose first," Mama said
quietly.
""Ye banks and braes of Bonny
Doon," please, Pa," said Mary.
So Grandpa played, and the grown-ups sang
along. It was a song he had played and
sung for Mama and her sisters when they were little
girls, when they were the first settlers in the little town
on the prairie.

"Ye banks and braes of Bonny Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chaunt, ye little birds,
And I sae weary, full of care?"

Rose hummed. She didn't know the words.
Then Grandpa played another song and then another.
Rose knew some of them from Mama's whistling and
singing. Sometimes the fiddle sang happily.
Sometimes it sang so sadly, Rose thought her
heart might burst open, like a bud.
After the fiddle had sung a long time, Grandpa
stopped. "You folks'll be starting pretty
early," he said to Papa. "And I see the moon
has risen."
"If it's your pleasure to play, sir, we have
till sunup," Papa said. "We only live
once."
So Grandpa raised the fiddle and played on
into the night. Rose was wide awake, listening,
singing, and watching the grown-ups.
Finally the fiddle sang the last tune,
"Tenting on the Old Campground."

"We're tenting tonight on the old campground,
Give us a song to cheer
Our weary hearts, a song of home,
And friends we love so dear."

Then Grandpa laid the fiddle in its box and
put in the bow. Mama came to carry it back
into the house, but Grandpa stopped her.
"Laura, you have always been dear to us, from the time
you were a little half-pint half drunk up," he
said. "Your ma and I never could do as much for you
girls as we wanted. There'll be a little something
left when we're gone, I hope. But I want
to say now, I want you all to witness that when that
time comes ... well, Laura, I want you to have
the fiddle."
From the darkness where Mama stood, Rose heard
a coughing sound. Then Mama said, simply,
"Oh, Pa."

Papa, Mama, and Rose were quiet as they
walked back to their empty house, with the
wagon loaded and waiting out front to take them
away. The moon was high. The grass was silvery
with dew. Their shoes made lonely clumping sounds
on the wooden sidewalk.
Papa put his arm around Mama's shoulder and
said, "Don't cry, Bess."
"I'm not crying," Mama said quickly. "I'm
only ... remembering. Pa played us to sleep
with that fiddle when I was little. It's my first
memory. He played by all those campfires and
through blizzards and drought and sickness. We never
could have gotten through it all without Pa's fiddle."
"Music does put heart in a body," said
Papa.
The whole curve of the sky was filled with
moonlight over the flat dark earth and the dark
houses. The air had the sleepy feel of the still of
night. But soon it would be morning.
When the sun had climbed high over the
prairie, they would be gone, Rose thought, on their
way to find a new home.



The Indian Story

In the gray light before sunrise, they drove
the wagon to Grandma and Grandpa's house to say
good-bye. Rose was so tired that it seemed like a
dream. She hugged her three aunts and Grandpa
twice, and Grandma three times. Then she
climbed sleepily up over the wheel and onto the
seat, between Mama and Papa.
The mares, Pet and May, were hitched to the
wagon. Their colts, Little Pet and Prince,
both four months old, stood beside their mothers
sniffing the fresh morning. Papa tightened the
reins and raised his hat. Everyone cried out all
at once, "Good-bye!" "Good-bye!" "Don't
forget to write." "I won't." "You be sure
to." "Good-bye!" Then they were on their way.
Mama and Papa fell silent as the mares
pulled the little black wagon down the street.
Only the jingling of the harness, and roosters crowing in
backyards, broke the quiet. At the end of the
street, they turned onto the main road south.
The colts pranced alongside, glad to be
stretching their legs.
When they had passed the last house in the little
town, they caught up with the Cooleys.
Papa stopped behind Paul's wagon.
"Howdy, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder," Paul
shouted to Mama and Papa. George sat next
to him. Mr. Cooley drove the other big
wagon, in front, with Mrs. Cooley beside him.
Papa waved to Mr. Cooley, and the three
wagons began their long journey.
But Rose's eyes wouldn't stay open any
longer. Mama fixed a spot in the back, among
their belongings, where she could lie down. Rose
took one last look back at the town. Then she
put her head down and fell into a deep sleep.

The sting of the hot sun on her face woke
Rose up. Voices were singing.
""Oh Su-sanna, Don't you cry for
me!"" sang Papa.
And Mama answered, ""I'm go-+
to Missouri, With my washpan on my knee!""
Rose sat up and rubbed her eyes. She
looked all around. The wagon trail stretched
behind them to the brown horizon. The wind blew a
plume of dust away from the wagons. The little town
was gone! Now there was only rolling prairie, a
farmstead here and there, and a spinning windmill, all
baking in the sun. Some men were harvesting a field
of stunted wheat.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"We haven't gone far," Mama said. "Come
sit with us and sing awhile."
Rose climbed over the back of the wagon
seat.
"What shall we sing?" Mama asked. "How about
"The Rattling Wheel"?"
"Which one is that?"
"It goes like this." Mama began, and then
Papa joined in.
"I remember," Rose said. Then they all
sang it together:

"The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel the rattling wheel
Revolving as we go."

Then they sang a modern song,
"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," that Rose had
learned in school. Rose liked it so well, she
begged them to sing it again. When they had sung the last
note, Rose started to sing it again from the
beginning. Mama and Papa joined in.
At the end, there was a moment of silence. Mama
and Papa looked at Rose as if to say, Enough
is enough. But Rose couldn't resist. With a
giggle she started over again. Mama and Papa
laughed, and then they joined in, too.
"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ha-ha-ha-boom-de-ay." The music and the
laughter carried Rose away, as light and free
as a cloud.
The mares plodded toward the brown horizon,
wavy and shimmering in the heat. Prince raced
ahead, the wind rippling his glossy mane and
tail. Then he stopped and stamped his foot,
impatient for Little Pet and the mares to catch up.
All morning Papa's strong, veiny hands
gripped the lines. The mares' heads nodded in time
with their steps. The harness straps slipped back and
forth along their shoulders. The checkreins lifted and
fell above their manes.
Each dip of the road took them through a hollow
where Rose could see nothing but dried grass and
wildflowers nodding in sunshine. At the top of the
next swell, the horizon was still brown and wavy,
and far away.
When the horses crowded too close behind
Paul's wagon, Papa never raised his
voice. He never laid a whip to them. "Easy,
now," he said. Pet and May listened, their ears
twitching this way and that like birds on a fence.
Horses trusted Papa.
Rose trusted him, too. Papa was always
patient and gentle, even with strangers. He was
always cheerful. She loved the tiny half smile his
mouth made, partly hidden by his neatly clipped
mustache, and the little laugh wrinkles that crowded around
his blue eyes.
Rose knew that nothing could hurt them as long as
Papa was there.
She wished Paul and George would turn around
and wave to her. Through the arch of their wagon cover
she could see the brims of their straw hats
fluttering in the wind. The straps of their overalls
crossed the backs of their sweaty gray shirts.
Their bare legs dangled below the seat.
"That little shaver knows how to drive," Papa
said. "That's a powerful team he's handling."
Rose remembered that Paul and George were not
to play, ever, while Paul was driving the wagon.
Mr. Cooley had told them that, in his
deep, stern voice. Paul and George had
answered him, "Yessir." "Yessir."
Finally Rose was tired of singing. She begged
Mama to tell a story. "Tell about when the
wolf almost ate you and Aunt Carrie," she
begged.
"You know as well as I, that wolf never almost
ate us. And I've told that story so many times,"
said Mama. "Maybe there's another I can think
of."
"Here's one," Papa said. "How about the time
old Dr. Thorne found that Indian mummy?"
"An Indian mummy?" Rose asked.
"Manly, I'm not sure--" Mama began.
"It's a harmless story, Bess," said
Papa. "No one got hurt."
"Tell me! Tell me, please!" Rose
shouted.
"I don't want you giving her nightmares is
all," said Mama. "But I suppose."
So Papa began, "It was a little papoose,
an Indian baby that had died. Dr. Thorne--
he doctored the railroad hands--discovered it one
day, way out on the prairie, way past the end
of the tracks, where no white men had been. It was
a scientific discovery. Those Indians had
mummified it somehow, dried it out, and put it in that
tree. That was their custom instead of burying their
kin.
"Well, Doc Thorne was going to send it to the
Smithsonian Institution in Washington, or
maybe sell it to Barnum's Museum. He
showed it to me on his way to the depot."
"What did it look like?" Rose asked.
"I guess you'd say it looked like a little old
man," Papa said. "It was wrapped in some
cloth. Its skin looked like some kind of dark
wood. It still had its black hair and
eyelashes, too.
"Well, it wasn't too long before the
Indians found out about it. And they were none too
pleased. I was working in the railroad camp one
day when four hundred of them showed up. They
surrounded the whole camp at dawn and surprised
us.
"The Indian chief told the camp boss
to get that mummified baby back in three days,
or there'd be trouble. Those Indians were on a
hair trigger. The whole countryside was in an
uproar. Homesteaders sent their
families into town, and you couldn't find a spare
bullet for anything.
"By that time, Doc Thorne had already caught the
train to Tracy. I went into town to the depot and
telegraphed down the line, trying to get ahead of
him. We were lucky. He was just about to put that
papoose on an eastbound express. But when he
heard about the Indians, he got on the next
train headed back west to us.
"When that train got in, I saddled up with the
mummy and rode the twenty miles to the railroad
camp. I could see from far away that the Indians
were swarming through the camp like ants."
Rose gulped.
"All of a sudden, here comes one of their young
warriors, up out of a hollow. He seemed to just
appear out of thin air. He was all painted up and
riding a pony with no saddle. Just riding it as
fast and free as can be, straight at me. He and
that pony moved like they were one animal. He was
aiming his rifle right at me, too.
"I hardly had time to think. I didn't know
what might happen next. But all he did was
ride past, quick as a flash. I reckon he
wanted to scare me, and he did a fine job of
it, too. Then he turned around and rode back
to the other Indians in the camp, yelling something
fierce."
"What did you do?" Rose asked.
"Why, I rode into the railroad camp as quick
as I could. The boss came and took the mummy
back to the Indian chief. Then the Indians
rode away, as peaceful as sheep."
Rose wanted to see an Indian mummy.
"There aren't any more Indian mummies around
here," Mama told her. "Or Indians, either.
The soldiers made them move west, when the
country was settling up."
Rose was sorry there weren't Indians to see.
She would have liked to see a painted warrior riding
his pony. But Mama said she had seen enough
Indians in her lifetime, thank you.
"Tell me another story about Indians,"
Rose begged. "Please?"
"Not now," said Mama. "It's nearly noon
--time to stop for dinner."
Dust Storm

The three wagons pulled up to a lone tree
in a hollow. Everyone was thirsty, but there was no
stream and no farm nearby to ask for water. So they
drank from the water barrel tied to Paul's
wagon. Paul stood in the wagon-box and
lifted up the barrel's wooden lid. He reached
for the dipper.
"Jiminy!" he cried out, dropping it. "That's
hot!" The metal handle had been baking in the
sun all morning. Paul wrapped his bandana
around it so he could dip water for each of them. The
water was warm and it tasted stale, but Rose was
too thirsty to care. She drank so greedily from
her tin cup that she spilled some on her dress.
"Take your time, Rose," said Mama. "The
horses have yet to drink, and we can't afford
to waste a drop. We don't know when we might
find more."
Paul filled two wooden buckets, for
Rose and George to carry to the horses.
Rose's bucket was heavy. It banged her
shins, and the water sloshed out. She walked very
slowly to keep from spilling more.
Papa and Mr. Cooley had unhitched the
teams. They held the halter ropes while the
horses lay down in the dust and rolled away the
sweat and tiredness from their backs. Then Papa and
Mr. Cooley tied the horses to the wagon
wheels and put on their nose bags of oats. The
colts nursed, and Papa also put some oats on
the ground for them to munch. When it was gone, they
nibbled the grass nearby.
Rose helped Mama and Mrs. Cooley
unpack the dinner baskets in the shade of the
tree. Grandma had made up a basket of
fried chicken, hard-boiled eggs, bread with jam,
and bread-and-butter pickles. Then they all sat
down to eat. It reminded Rose of a Sunday
drive to Lake Henry, without Sunday's clean
clothes and proper behavior. She hoped she could
play with Paul and George after dinner.
Mama sighed. "It's good to sit in the shade,
on the soft grass. I can still feel the wagon
seat bumping along."
The warm air quivered with the chatter of
crickets and grasshoppers. Even in the shade
Rose was hot, almost too hot to eat. She
sucked on a pickle.
"How far have we gone now?" she asked.
"We're so close to home," Mama said, "you
wouldn't guess we aren't going to turn around."
"The horses know we aren't," Papa said,
taking off his hat to mop his brow. "They seem
eager to put the miles behind them. I have to hold them
back some, even in this heat."
"Maybe they can smell the water in
Missouri," Mama said. "I'm eager to get
there, too. All those bubbling springs you saw
sounded lovely, Mr. Cooley."
"That's right, Mrs. Wilder," Mr.
Cooley said. "You folks haven't seen a thing
like it. You can't ride a half mile in the
Ozarks without finding a spring or a creek of the
purest water you ever swallowed. Just bubbling up out
of the ground, free as you please."
"How I look forward to the forests!" Mrs.
Cooley added. "I was raised back East, and
I can say it, now that we're leaving: I never
did like the emptiness of this land. There's just no comfort
to be found in it."
Rose looked around them. The tree they were
sitting under was an island of green in a sea of
brown grass. Dust devils whirled along the
road, spun twisting in the grass, and vanished
with a flutter. Rose could not imagine water just
pouring out of a hole in the ground. Or a land
covered with trees.
That afternoon a dust storm came up on them from
behind. A thick cloud of dust blew over them as
they drove. The light dimmed, and the air was so
thick that Papa could not see the wagon track.
"We'll have to wait it out!" he shouted over the
roar of the wind. The Cooleys' wagons pulled
off the trail, and Papa followed. Mama
unrolled the oilcloth curtains and tied them in
place. She and Rose huddled inside the wagon
with kerchiefs over their mouths. Papa calmed and
picketed the horses. Then he climbed into the
wagon, bringing a gust of hot, choking air with
him.
"It isn't so bad," he said, catching his
breath. "The wind is hard, but there's light in the
west. It ought to blow over soon."
The wind snapped and grabbed at the heavy
oilcloth covers. The gusts slammed and jiggled
the wagon-box. Mama picked up the thermometer
in its wooden frame.
"Land sakes," she said in a voice muffled
by her kerchief. "It's a hundred and two
degrees."
The suffocating heat had softened the tarry
black coating of the wagon covers. The odor of
it stung Rose's nostrils. Her eyes itched.
Her skin felt gritty, and her dress clung
damply to her back. She could even taste the
bitterness of the dust.
Finally, she could not be good a moment longer.
"I'm thirsty," she said.
"Don't cry, Rose," Mama said gently,
dabbing her neck with her kerchief. Her bangs
lay limp on her forehead. "You must be a little
patient, is all. What cannot be cured must be
endured. Think how thirsty the poor horses must
be, working so hard in this weather."
Rose did not feel better, or more patient.
But she knew to keep her complaints to herself after that.
Finally the dust cloud thinned and disappeared. The
sun shone brassy in a yellow sky. Dust had
drifted in little piles on the wagon seat, and on
every flat surface, and in every seam. Rose's
blue-flowered calico dress and bonnet were
grimy. When she stood up, dust shook from the
folds in little puffs. Everyone's face was lined with
dust and sweat. The horses were covered with it. The
white feathers of the chickens in their wire coop,
strapped to the tailboard, were frosted a pale
brown.
Everyone was thirsty, but the water tasted muddy
now. Only the horses drank it eagerly.
Rose was sorry for them, having to stand outside in
the blowing dust and then drink that muddy water. But
she was sorrier for herself.

Making Camp

The wagons drove on into the hot afternoon,
until the shadows of the horses and wagons began
to lean far to the east. Then it was time to make camp
for the night.
"There's a grove of trees up ahead, with a
windmill nearby," said Papa. He shouted
to Mr. Cooley and pointed. Mr. Cooley
nodded and waved his hat. When they got closer,
they could see a shanty, and water running from a
spout into an overflowing trough.
"I'll go see about that water," Papa said,
handing the reins to Mama. Mr. Cooley's tired
horses led the three wagons into a tight
huddle. Everyone climbed stiffly from the
wagon seats to dust off, stretch, and look around.
But only for a moment. There was work to do.
Papa came right back. "Fella says we
can have all the water we want. Here, Rose,"
he said, handing her the wooden bucket. "Draw
some fresh water for supper while Mama and I
get out the stove."
Rose ran to the brimming trough and stuck her
face right into the stream from the spout. Nothing had ever
felt so refreshing as letting that water run down
her chin and neck. She drank from the spout,
paused for breath, and drank again. It was sweet
water, and cold. Rose was sure she could never
drink enough of it.
Then she remembered Mama and the horses.
Rose quickly filled the bucket, but not too
full, and carried it back to the wagons.
Papa and Mr. Cooley had unhitched the
horses. Their work was done for the day, and they knew
it. They rolled on their backs and squirmed
happily this way and that. When they were finally cooled
off, Papa and Mr. Cooley led them to the
water.
"Now that we're traveling, your chores will be
different," Mama told Rose. "First thing each
evening is to find cook wood, if you can. Under those
trees you ought to find some fallen sticks and
branches."
Carrying water was hard work. But looking for
wood sounded like a treasure hunt. Rose dashed
under the trees. She was surprised to find
George already there, dragging away a nice big
branch toward Mrs. Cooley's stove.
It didn't seem fair to her that George had
gotten a head start. But then she spotted part of a
broken branch and picked it up. Some sticks were
lying by a tree trunk. She picked those up,
too. George saw Rose racing around, and he
also tried to grab the biggest sticks first.
Hunting for wood became a game. Rose's
legs rejoiced to be running after sitting cramped
all day on the wagon seat. She tried hard
to beat George to every stick. But they got to laughing
and racing around so fast that they tried to grab the
same stick. They crashed into each other, knocking
themselves down and scattering their bundles.
"Hey, that's my stick. I saw it first!"
George shouted.
"No it's not, either!" Rose shouted back.
"I touched it first!"
"Rose!" Mama shouted.
"George Cooley, stop this instant!"
Mrs. Cooley said sternly.
"That's enough, Rose," Mama called out.
"I'm waiting for that wood to start supper."
Rose and George quietly picked up the
scattered wood, although they could hardly know whose was
whose. They carried the wood back to where the stoves
were set up.
The little camp stove that Papa had made from
sheets of iron squatted on the bare ground on
stubby legs. Mama had fitted on the
stovepipe. It stuck up in the air to keep the
smoke from blowing in her face. The camp stove
looked just like a cookstove in a house, only
smaller.
Rose helped Mama break the sticks
into kindling to start the fire. Then she sat at the
table in a chair and carefully peeled four
potatoes. When she was done, Mama said she could
watch Papa groom the mares.
Pet stood still while Papa combed and brushed
away the sweaty harness marks. He brushed the
dust from the fine, short hairs. He brushed over
the sturdy shoulder muscles and the round flanks,
down the slenderness of tapering legs. He brushed
and rubbed until Pet's brown coat shone like
satin.
"Can I help, Papa?" Rose asked. "Can
I brush Pet, too?"
"She's a bit tall for you, Rose," Papa
said. "And my brush is too big for your hand."
"Please, Papa!" Rose begged. "Just a
little? I'll be careful."
Papa looked at Rose for a moment, his mouth
half smiling, stroking his mustache. "Well,
you're getting to be a big grown-up girl,
aren't you? I suppose Pet might like to have her
chest scratched a bit. Let me see. I think
I have an old corncob in here."
Papa looked into the bag where he kept the
brushes. He fished out a cob.
"Pull it down, like this." He showed her. "You
can use two hands, reach up high as you can, and
pull down. Mind you always pull down. Don't
push. And stay at her front," he warned.
"She's a good gentle horse, but horses
don't know their strength. She could kick you without
meaning to."
Rose was excited--and nervous. She
had never helped Papa with the mares before. But Pet
stood still while Rose scratched her chest.
Papa watched her as he combed the tangles out of
May's forelocks.
"Don't be afraid to put some muscle in it,
Rose. A horse has thick skin. And you can
talk to her, too. Horses like to hear a voice.
It soothes them."
Rose pressed down on the cob as she pulled
it. The mare lowered her enormous head,
murmured, and gently tickled Rose's ear with
her lips. Little Pet stood close by, munching
grass. Then the colt jealously poked her
velvety nose in Rose's way.
"I can't think of anything to say," Rose said.
"Well, then, sing to her."
So Rose sang "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay"
to Pet. It was fun helping Papa. And she
liked to see how Pet's hair lay in swirls
and waves. But the best part was being near the colts.
Rose thought horses, especially colts, were the
most beautiful of all God's creatures.
"Little Pet wants to be combed, too,
Papa."
"The colts aren't old enough," Papa said.
"They are like children. Younger than you, Rose. They
haven't learned the difference between right and wrong. But
here's a bit of carrot you can give her."
Rose remembered to hold her hand open wide,
so Little Pet wouldn't bite any fingers
by mistake. The colt's breath whooshed warmly in
her palm. Her bright eyes looked at Rose
shyly. Then she reached out and took the carrot.
Rose heard three crunches, and it was gone.
Little Pet nuzzled her, looking for more.
Rose loved the frisky way the colts
played and chased each other. She loved their long
slender legs, and the nervous way they tossed their
heads. And there was a trembling, terrifying
wildness about them that Rose also loved. Their
hearts were strong and as free as the prairie itself.
Just watching them gallop across the broad flat
land, their manes and tails fluttering, made
Rose's heart soar.
Finally, Mama and Mrs. Cooley called
suppertime, and the families came together to eat.
Mama had fried salt pork to go with beans and
fried potatoes. The grown-ups ate at
Mama and Papa's table. Rose sat on one
of the wagon tongues with Paul and
George, balancing her tin plate on her
knees. Everything tasted delicious. Mama said
hunger was the best spice.
"Yes, ma'am," Mr. Cooley said
cheerfully. "Even dirt tastes good when you're
camping."
"You best not be speaking of my cooking," Mrs.
Cooley fussed. "Or maybe dirt is just
what you'll get!"
"Now, Emma, I only meant ..." Mr.
Cooley stammered. "Well of course your
cooking is fine. Just fine. These dumplings are
delicious. And you know how I go on so about your
apple pie."
Papa's mustache quivered, and his eyes
twinkled. Mama cleared her throat and stood up
quickly. "Rose, help me with these dishes,
please."
After the dishes were washed, Mama said Rose
could play. "Until dark. Then straight to bed."
The children explored in the little grove of trees,
with Mr. Cooley's black-and-white herd dog,
Ben.
"Did you see that big blacksnake by the road
today?" Paul asked. "Gosh, it must have been ten
feet long. I thought for sure the horses were going
to bolt. But they didn't even flinch."
Rose told Paul and George Papa's
Indian mummy story.
When they were tired of talking, they played fetch
with Ben. Then Paul said they should have a race.
"First one to that fence post over there!" he shouted.
They raced each other through the grass. Paul was
taller and his legs longer. He won easily.
But Rose knew she could beat George if she
really tried. She touched the fence post just before he
did.
"I beat you! I beat you!" she panted.
"Did not either!" George shouted, his face
red. "My foot was in front of yours. Touching
doesn't count. I beat you!"
But Rose knew she had been faster. It was
naughty, but part of her enjoyed teasing George.
They played together until all they could see of
each other were the pale spots of their faces,
hands, and feet. The only light in the sky was a
thin band of deep purple at the horizon. Then
Mama called Rose for bedtime.
Rose climbed into the wagon to put on her
nightgown. She saw that Mama had made
her bed up in front of the wagon seat. The
wagon boards on three sides made it as
cozy as a crib.
Behind her little bed, Mama had made the big bed
on top of the bedsprings, which were on top of the
trunks packed with all the things they wouldn't need
until they got to Missouri. Rose's
trundle bed was also under Mama and Papa's
bedsprings.
Rose wriggled into her covers. Papa blew
out the lantern. Then, from the darkness, came all the
little night sounds, curling around Rose like a
blanket. The chickens fluttered sleepily in
their coop beside the wagon; the cooling night air
whispered in the grass; and over it all the
crickets chirped a steady chorus.
Then Rose heard a new sound, high-pitched
yapping and howling, far off in the distance. She had
never heard anything so lonely and haunting. Her
scalp crinkled. Ben barked twice from his bed under
Paul's wagon.
"What was that?" Rose asked the darkness. "Is
that wolves?"
"It's just coyotes," said Mama. "There are
no wolves here. Go to sleep now."
Rose was tired, but she could not make her thoughts
go to sleep. It had been such an exciting day.
She couldn't wait to tell Grandma, and Aunt
Mary, and ...
But then Rose remembered: There was no one
to tell things to. They weren't going back. Their
whole lives were in that wagon now.
The coyotes began yapping and howling again. The
wind slapped and tugged at the curtains. Rose
huddled down in her little bed and turned her face
to the wagon boards. She could feel her heart
beating in her ears.

The Writing Case

A rooster crowed nearby. Rose opened an
eye. Fingers of faint gray light reached in through
the curtain corners. A bucket clunked, and
then she heard water being poured.
"Good morning, ladies," sang Mama's
voice. The chickens clucked an answer.
Rose's other eye popped open, and she sat
bolt upright. The new day had started without her!
She bounded out from under her covers and wriggled into her
dress as quickly as she could. Then she sat
on the wagon's endgate so Mama could button
up her back.
"Wash your face and hands in the washbasin,"
Mama said. "Then come sit on the wagon tongue
so I can brush out your hair."
Papa was beating pancake batter. Salt
pork sizzled cheerfully in the pan. Mama
plaited Rose's long brown hair into two
braids. Rose swished her bare feet back and
forth in the cool, dewy grass. She watched the
sky's dark edge slowly turn pink. Paul and
George walked by, carrying buckets of water
to the horses.
"Mornin', Rose," Paul said.
George huffed and puffed, his bucket sloshing
over its sides. Rose wished Mama would
hurry, so she could water the horses, too.
"Be still," Mama said. "I'm nearly done."
Papa took out the salt pork and tested the
iron skillet with drops of water. The drops
danced, so he knew it was exactly hot enough
to cook the pancakes without burning them.
Papa poured batter for one large pancake,
as big as the skillet. Dozens of little bubbles
rose through the batter. When the bubbles were bursting with
little puffs of steam, he flipped the pancake
over. The bottom was perfectly golden. In a
minute, Papa peeked under its edge. Then he
flipped the smoking pancake onto a plate with
one smooth motion. That was the blanket cake.
Next he poured out the batter into three
smaller cakes. In no time they were done, too.
He drizzled the smaller cakes with some melted
brown sugar and tucked them under the blanket
cake, to keep them warm. Then he poured batter
for three more pancakes.
Finally, Mama finished plaiting Rose's
braids, and they ate. The bites vanished,
sweet and light, as soon as Rose put the fork
into her mouth.
"It carries me back through the years,
traveling this way," Papa said. "It puts
spring in a man's step and hope in his heart."
"Lately the past has been stepping all over
the heels of the present," said Mama. "This
morning I could almost hear my ma's voice,
calling me to wash for breakfast."
Rose helped scrape and clean the dishes.
Then she helped Mama repack all the things they
had used for camping. They stowed the table and the
chairs, the camp stove, the hammock that Aunt
Mary had netted for them, tin plates and cups,
frying pan, coffeepot, washbasin, water
pail, picket ropes and pegs, and the salt
pork and sack of flour, as well as the sacks of
corn and the oats for the horses.
Mama laid the last sack inside the
endgate. "Now for my writing case, Rose.
It's on the wagon seat."
Rose loved Mama's writing case. Papa
had made it for her one winter. The polished wood
was as smooth and rich as well-oiled leather.
Rose never could resist stroking it, although she was not
supposed to touch it unless Mama said so. The
case opened like a book, with the two sides hinged
together. When the case lay all the way open, it
turned into a little slanted desk for Mama
to write her letters on. Two compartments were hidden
underneath the slanted surface. That was where Mama
kept her paper and envelopes.
Rose carefully handed the case to Mama. She
started to put it away. But then she stopped.
"Come sit here, on the endgate," she said in a
solemn voice that surprised Rose. "Do you
think you can keep a secret?"
A tingle of excitement ran through Rose. It
was the first time Mama had ever shared a secret with
her. "I can keep it," she said. "Is it a
secret from Papa?"
"Papa knows," Mama said. "The secret is
what's in my writing case. It's the money I
saved all last year, from sewing for the dressmaker.
I want you to remember that. It is one hundred
dollars, and it is here in my writing case. That
one hundred dollars is our future, when we
get to Missouri. Do you understand?"
"All those dollars are in there?" Rose
asked. "How can they fit?"
"No, Rose. All those dollars are one
piece of paper, called a hundred-dollar
bill. It is hidden, under the envelopes and
paper. You must never, ever tell anybody that it's
there. And you must never play with the writing case. Do
you understand?"
"Yes, Mama," Rose said solemnly.
"And you must remember one thing more," Mama said
in her most serious voice. "If anything should ever
happen to Papa and me, you must keep the writing
case. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mama." Rose was not sure
she understood the part about anything happening to Mama
and Papa. But she was afraid to ask.
"That's my good girl," Mama said, and stood
up. "Now let me put the case away, and then
let's get the chicken coop lashed to the endgate.
I see Papa has the team hitched."
Finally the three wagons drove off into the new
morning. The horses were rested and eager. The first
rays of sunlight spilled buttery all across the
prairie; chirping meadowlarks fluttered up from the
grass. The ridges blazed gold, and all the
low places were cast in long dark shadows.
Smoke trailed from the chimneys of claim
shanties and sod huts. Spinning windmills
sprouted from the swells, peeked out from the hollows,
or hid in clumps of trees.
The horses plodded, their black manes and
tails blowing feathery in the wind. The level
country kept coming.
And Mama and Papa and Rose sang:

"O Dakota land, sweet Dakota land!
As on thy burning soil I stand
And look away across the plains
I wonder why it never rains,
Till Gabriel blows his trumpet sound
And says the rain has gone around.
We don't live here, we only stay
'Cause we're too poor to get away!"

Rose glanced behind her, into the wagon. They were
not too poor to get away, she knew, as long as
they had the writing case.

Covered Wagon Folks

It was near sunset when the wagons stopped for the
night by a spring. The parched smell of heat and
dust rose from the roadside. Papa climbed
down to unhitch the mares. He put a hand on
May to stroke her before unhooking the traces.
Then he stopped, staring back, past the wagon
cover.
"By golly," he said. "It looks like the whole
of Dakota is moving."
Rose scrambled through the wagon to look out the
back. "Mama, look!"
Along the road behind them, straight over the low
curves of the prairie, covered wagons were coming.
There were small groups of wagons, with
spaces between the groups. They were coming as far as the
eye could see. The wind blew away from those
wagons a haze of dust that became a thin gold
mist in the slanting sunshine.
"I guess hard times are driving them out
too," Mama said. Her forehead wrinkled into little
knobs of worry. "I wish we had taken
another road, Manly. I don't like the idea
of camping among covered wagon folks."
"Why, Bess. I'm surprised at you,"
Papa said. "Those folks might be company for us.
Likely pretty good company, some of them. And
after all, we're traveling in a wagon, too."
"You know very well what I mean," said Mama.
"We know where we're going, and we're traveling
with friends. But with all the country pulled up and
drifting, and so much lawlessness and horse stealing,
who can say what sort of people are about? Besides,
there's Rose to consider. Goodness knows what she
might see and hear."
"Well, we can't take another mile out of the
horses tonight," said Papa. "Tomorrow we'll see
if there's another road."
Now all those covered wagons came crawling
on up. They pulled creaking and jingling all around
on the wild grass and began making camp. The
empty prairie was suddenly as lively as a
small town.
Campfires flickered to life as darkness
crept over the grass. Rose heard pot lids
clanging and many voices. She could smell all
those good suppers being cooked. Horses whinnied and
dogs barked. Ben barked back, until Mrs.
Cooley scolded him. A man was shouting
someone's name. Laughter broke out nearby.
Somewhere a baby was crying.
Surrounded by the sounds and smells of all that
living, Rose felt wonderfully alive.
"After chores, let's look around," Paul
said at supper. "I bet there are fifteen
wagons here. We could go around and count them."
Rose stole a glance at the table where Mama
and Papa were eating and talking with Mr. and Mrs.
Cooley. Rose wanted to go exploring with
Paul and George.
But she didn't want to ask Mama if she
could. She knew the answer. She wanted so much
to know what Mama was afraid for her to see and
hear. She balanced her tin plate on her
knees and looked out at the golden points
of light of the other campfires. She wondered
what all those people were doing. She wondered where they were
going.
After supper chores, Mama said Rose must
stay close by the wagons.
"Yes, Mama," she muttered.
"That goes for you boys, too," Mr.
Cooley said.
Rose kicked at a clump of grass with a
bare foot. She didn't like to be told where she
could play. But she went to sit with Paul and
George by one of the wagons.
"Hey, Rose. Look what I can do,"
George said. He held his hand in a fist and
looked toward the side of the wagon. Then he
wiggled his hand.
"Not like that," Paul scoffed. "That's nothing at
all." He held his fist in the air and wiggled
it. "Look, Rose."
Rose looked at the side of the wagon, and
there, in the lamplight, was the shadow outline of a
rabbit's head, with ears and an eye and a nose.
She giggled. Rose had never seen such a thing.
Then Paul made a dog with short ears and a long
nose. The dog opened its mouth and Paul barked.
Rose laughed.
Paul tried to show Rose how to do it, but she
couldn't get her fingers to look like ears and she
couldn't figure out how to make her hands work together.
"Listen!" Rose said suddenly. Someone was
playing a fiddle. She stood up and peered around
the side of the wagon. Across the dark emptiness she
could see the campfire where the fiddle music was
coming from. She could make out people moving about the
campfire. Paul and George were standing next
to her, looking and listening.
"Come on," Paul whispered. "Let's have a
look."
"But ..." Rose started to say.
"Just a look," said Paul. "We'll come
back so fast, no one will even know we were gone."
"But Paul," George whispered. "If
Papa catches us, we'll get a licking."
Paul's mouth puckered in thought. Ben whined from
under the wagon. He wanted to play, too, but
Mr. Cooley had tied him to one of the wheels.
Finally, Paul said, "Aw, come on. We'll
just walk a little ways. There's no harm in that."
"Well, you can go and get yourself a whipping,"
George said. "I'll just stay here."
"Stay then," Paul said. "Come on,
Rose." Before she could think about it, Rose was
following Paul out into the dark grass. George
came after all.
They crept like Indians through the grass.
Rose's heart pounded, and she looked back. But
no one had noticed them leaving.
"Wait, Paul!" George whispered
loudly. "This is too far."
"Just a little bit more," Paul said.
Rose could see the campfires all around her.
But everything else was warm velvety darkness.
Suddenly a horse snorted right next
to Rose, startling her. She stumbled and fell.
She got up quickly and looked back again. Her
own campfire was far away now, an island in a
black sea. Her thoughts fought each other; maybe
she should turn back.
She could just make out the shapes of Paul and
George ahead of her. They were still walking through the
grass. She looked again toward their camp. But
then Rose heard the music, and she dashed after
Paul and George.
They were crouching in the tall grass, close to a
covered wagon, just outside the light of the
campfire. Rose could see a man sitting on
a chair, playing the fiddle. He was tapping his
foot. Some other men were sitting on the wagon
tongue, clapping and singing to the music.
Near the campfire, a man and a woman were
dancing. They danced in a circle, each with an
arm hooked through the other's elbow. Every once in a
while they stopped, hooked their other arms, and
danced the other way. Each time they changed
direction, the woman's long braid swung
merrily and she laughed.
The sounds of the music and the singing and the clapping
delighted Rose.
"Oh, the hinges are of leather," they sang,

"The windows have no glass
And the roof it lets the howling blizzard in,
And I hear the hungry coyotes
As they sneak up through the grass,
Round my little old sod shanty on the claim!"

"Are those covered wagon folks?" Rose
whispered.
"Of course they are," Paul said. "Look.
They have a wagon. And it has a cover.
Just like ours."
"I know," Rose said. "But Mama said she
doesn't like to camp among covered wagon
folks."
"What's the harm in it?" Paul asked. "This
is exciting. I never had so much fun as I'm
having right this minute."
Rose looked at George, but he just shrugged
his shoulders. She knew the hundred dollar bill
had something to do with not being covered wagon folks.
But she was not supposed to tell anyone about that.
Still, she was confused. Those people singing and dancing did
not seem dangerous. They did not look lawless,
either.
The music changed. The fiddler played a new
tune. The men sang:

"So if ever you're caught in any such scrap,
Through being too timid or bold,
Recollect, my friends, whose fault it is,
And blame yourself if you're sold."

Rose thought it sounded a bit naughty, but she
wasn't sure.
The music stopped. The man playing the fiddle
wiped his face with a kerchief. Then he looked
up, right at them!
"Say! Who's that yonder?" he shouted, waving
the bow. The other people around the campfire turned
to look. A dog began to bark and ran toward them.
For a moment none of the children moved. Then Rose
grabbed Paul's shirt and pulled him. "We have
to go back!"
"Come on over, neighbor!" the man shouted.
He had a long gray beard and a red face.
"Y'all come on over and sing with us a spell."
The man stood up and took a step. "Why, it's
jist a bunch o' young'uns," he said, laughing
loudly.
Rose turned and ran as fast as she could toward
the tiny light of their own campfire. She could
feel the ground under her feet, but it was too dark
to see where she was going. She just ran blindly. The
grass whipped her legs. Her dress swished
against it.
She didn't even notice Paul passing
her. When she got back to the rear of their
wagons, there he was, peering around the corner
to see if any grown-ups had noticed.
Ben barked and wagged his tail
joyfully.
"Shhh!" Paul said, a finger to his lips.
Rose let herself drop into the grass. She could not
go another step. Her heart beat all over her
body. She gasped for breath. Then George
came running up.
"That was fun!" he said. They all laughed.
"What was fun?" a deep voice boomed.
It was Mr. Cooley! Rose held her
breath. He had appeared out of the air, large and
square and powerful. He towered over them with his
legs apart, hands on his hips.
Mr. Cooley waited for an answer.
"Nothing, Papa," Paul said, catching his
breath. His eyes were big and round. "We were ...
only playing tag."
"That will be all for tonight," Mr. Cooley said.
"You boys go on in the wagon and get settled."
Rose tiptoed past Mr. Cooley, then
dashed to her wagon.
Mr. Cooley stared out into the night. There were
only campfires to be seen, flickering in the
distance.

At the River Crossing

The next morning Papa had a surprise for
Rose. "Would you like to ride with Paul and
George?"
"Could I?" Rose shouted.
"Yes," said Papa. "But you must behave. You
mustn't distract Paul from his driving, or Mr.
Cooley won't allow a next time."
"Yes, Papa," Rose said, trying to sound
well behaved. Inside she was jumping up and down
with excitement.
"Morning, Rose," Mr. Cooley said.
He was holding the bits of the horses and smiling
at her. "All ready?"
Rose nodded so eagerly that her sunbonnet
fell back off her head. A big grin spread
across Paul's face.
"Paul!" Mr. Cooley said sharply.
"Keep those reins taut."
Paul's face fought a smile, but the corners
of his mouth still quivered. He held the reins of the
big black horses in his hands. Rose noticed
that he hunched over and rested his foot on the
dashboard, just the way Papa did. He pushed his
hat off his forehead, to see better.
Papa did that, too. It shocked Rose
to realize how grown-up Paul looked.
Mr. Cooley lifted Rose up onto the
high seat, and she settled herself down between Paul
and George. Paul gave the reins a little flip
and chirruped to the horses. Their heads began
to bob as they pulled the wagon in line behind Mr.
and Mrs. Cooley's wagon.
"Is it hard to drive?" Rose asked. A
covered wagon was so much bigger than Papa's
wagon. She was surprised to see how high off the
ground she was.
"Not for me," Paul said. "My pa says I
have a knack for it. One thing, though: You have to watch
in case the team might shy from something. Like a
snake. Horses hate snakes. You have to hold
the reins just a certain way; not too tight, not
too loose. Want to try?"
"Could I?" Rose asked in astonishment.
"Sure you can drive," Paul said. "You
hold the ends of the reins like this, see. I'll
hold on to the rest of them, just in case."
Rose took the warm leather reins in her
small hands. But the lines still ran through Paul's
hands. She wasn't really driving. But it was fun
to pretend. She watched what Paul was doing. But
she didn't see him doing anything, really. He
was just sitting there, holding the drooping reins.
The three of them talked as they drove. They
talked about everything under the hot, blazing sun.
They counted jackrabbits bounding away in the
grass. They laughed to see roadrunners dashing
ahead of the wagon. They watched the hurrying
clouds and took turns saying what they looked
like. They wondered about the hills in Missouri, and
whether they would go to the same school.
When they were tired of talking, George and
Rose played hull gull while Paul
drove. They took five kernels of corn
apiece from a feed sack in the wagon. Then they
each took turns guessing how many kernels were in
the other's fist. If you guessed wrong, you had
to give up the same number of kernels as you were
wrong. When you were exactly right, the other person
had to give you all the kernels in his or her fist.
Rose guessed three. But when George
opened his hand there were only two. So Rose had
to give George one of her kernels, because she was
wrong by one. Rose put her hands behind her back.
Then she showed George her fist.
"Two," George guessed right, and Rose
had to give George both kernels in her fist.
Before long, George had all the kernels. Then
they divided them up and started over.
Once, as they climbed a hill and the wagons
were close together, Prince trotted right up
to Paul's wagon and looked at them. Then he
galloped away to his mother again.
"Gosh, he's beautiful," Paul said,
looking back around the cover of the wagon. "My
pa says he's never seen finer colts. That
Prince has a real fast look about him, too.
I bet he'll be fun to ride someday."
The families stopped at noon in a grassy
place by the wagon tracks, so they could eat their
dinner. Rose gathered dead grass and weed
stalks for a fire. Mama boiled water for tea.
Then she got the hardtacks out of the wagon.
Hardtack was a biscuity kind of bread that
Rose had not eaten before. Each piece was white
and round, big as a dinner plate, and dimpled with
tiny holes Mama had poked with a nail. She
had baked them without yeast. They came out of the oven
flat and hard as wood. Mama said hardtacks
stayed fresh a long time, like crackers. She had
baked a whole sack of flour into hardtacks before
they left. As long as they had hardtacks, they
would never go hungry.
"Now we're Israelites," Rose said.
"We are?" Mama said in surprise.
"In the Book of Exodus," Rose said.
"The Israelites had to eat bread that was ..."
"Unleavened?" Mama helped, then laughed.
"We are emigrating to a promised land. But that
doesn't make us Israelites, Rose.
We're still Congregationalists."
You couldn't bite into a hardtack, or break it
easily with your hands. Papa had to smash it
into smaller pieces with a hammer. Mama poured
hot water into Rose's cup and showed her how
to dip the pieces until they were soft enough to eat.
The hardtack was soggy that way, but Rose was
hungry and it tasted delicious.
After dinner, Mr. Cooley told Paul
to switch places with Mrs. Cooley. "We're
coming to a river crossing. I want those reins in
experienced hands."
Paul's shoulders sagged. He shoved his hands
into his pockets and kicked up dust as he
walked to his father's wagon. Rose
prickled with anger for him. Paul was a good
driver. Papa had said so. It wasn't fair.
"May I ride with Paul and George tomorrow?"
Rose asked. "I was good."
"You were good," said Mama. "You may ride with
Paul and George again, but only when Mr.
Cooley says so. You must not overstay your
welcome."
"Wind's picking up," Papa said, craning his
neck to look at the sky. Dark-gray clouds were
piling up at the horizon. "We may get a
bit of rain. At least it would lay this dust by."
They began to see other wagons, coming from several
directions. They were all heading toward the river
crossing.
"You see, Bess, all the roads are the
same," said Papa.
"Yes," Mama said. "It seems the whole
country is turned loose. It's a sin and a
shame what the government in Washington did
to folks, promising them free land. Free land,
indeed.
"It only shows that no good ever comes of getting
something for nothing. It nearly ruined my pa, and
look what it did to us. Every soul ought to pay his
way in this world. It's the only honest and true
way to live."
Now their three wagons joined a longer line of
wagons. Here and there they passed the beaten-down
spots of old campgrounds and the black circles
of dead campfires.
Finally they crested a ridge. Spread before them
was a great, winding river. Rose had never seen so
much water. The river curved away in both
directions as far as the eye could see. And it was
wide.
"How will we get to the other side?" asked
Rose.
"Do you see the ferry?" Mama said, pointing.
"Do you see it, there in the middle?"
Rose could not see anything at first. Then she
spied it. Looking no bigger than a chip of
wood, or a leaf, the tiny ferry bobbed in the
middle of the river. It slipped sideways as it
fought the pull of the current, clinging to a rope that
had been strung from one bank of the river to the other.
She gulped. Something fluttered in her stomach.
Rose realized she didn't know how to swim.
On the road before them, a long line of wagons
waited for the ferry. When the first wagon in
line boarded, the whole line crept one wagon
closer. The line crawled across the flat land like a
great long worm.
All afternoon they inched toward the river. There was
nothing else to do but wait. The sun began to sink,
but the wind blew hot as an oven. Dust flew as
rolling, black clouds darkened the sky behind them.
Mama kept turning to look back at the
stormy sky, her forehead furrowed with worry. The
horses tossed their heads restlessly. They were
hungry, and tired of standing in harness.
Rose grew itchy, too. "Mama, can I
get down? I'm tired of sitting."
""May I,"" Mama said. "Not "can
I." No, you may not."
"It's getting late," Papa said. "Maybe
we should pull off and camp for the night."
"I had hoped we would cross today," said
Mama. "I don't like to camp in such a crowded
place. And with this weather blowing up, who knows how
long we might have to stay here."
"Look, Papa," Rose said. "The
Cooleys' hens are thirsty." Their heads were
sticking out of their coop, and they were panting.
"That's a sharp eye, Rose," Papa said.
"I'll bet ours need water, too. We have
to be mindful of that, or else we won't get them
through." Papa gave the reins to Mama and got
down from the wagon. He took the jug and filled
the water dish in the Cooleys' coop, and then
gave some to Mama's hens.
The closer they got to the front of the line, the more
fluttery Rose felt. Dust and dry weeds
hurtled past them in the wind. The closer to shore
they got, the wider and nastier that river looked.
It just stretched away, almost to the horizon.
"What river is this, Mama? Is it the
Mississippi?" she asked.
"This is the Missouri, Rose."
"Is that Missouri on the other side, then?
Are we there already?"
"No," Mama said with a tight chuckle. "The
Missouri River is very long. The other side
is Nebraska. When I was a little girl about your
age, I crossed this river on my way with
Grandma and Grandpa to Indian Territory. And
it's no prettier now than it was then," she added.
The Big Muddy

The brownish-yellow water rolled along,
lazy yet so powerful that nothing could stop it. It
seemed to kill everything it touched. Trunks of
dead trees stuck up from it. The dry land along
the banks had rotted away from under the dead
brushwood.
Rose could not see into the water at all, it was
so murky. Mama said the Missouri had a
nickname: Big Muddy. It was a name the
Indians had given it. Just looking at that river
would scare anybody.
Finally it was the Cooleys' turn to go on the
ferry. There was room for only one wagon at a
time. It would take two trips to get both of
Mr. Cooley's wagons across.
The sun was near to setting. Black storm
clouds piled up in the sky. Brown, foamy
waves curled up out of the river. The little ferry
carrying the Cooleys' lead wagon and horses
pitched and tossed on the swells. Mama,
Papa, and Rose watched in fretful silence as
it made the crossing and then returned to pick up
the second wagon.
"So! That's Nebraska!" Papa finally said,
loud and hearty. He was trying to fill the
hollowness inside them all.
Suddenly a violent gust of wind slammed their
wagon. There was a sickening shudder. Then Rose
felt the wind lifting them off the ground, the whole
wagon they were sitting on, into the air! An
instant later it dropped the wagon down again.
There was a terrible BANG! as it hit the earth.
Rose's teeth clacked together. The pots and
pans clattered crazily.
The colts began to squeal in terror. Pet and
May whinnied and reared. They looked back with
wild eyes to see what was wrong. The chickens
squawked like hens on a chopping block.
The wind slammed the little wagon again. It
lifted and then crashed down--BANG!--AND lifted
again. The wagon seemed to have no weight at all.
Another bounce would surely tip it right over the
steep edge of the riverbank, throwing them all into the
rushing water.
Rose felt sick to her stomach. The whole
world was flying apart.
"Here, take these!" Papa shouted, handing the
reins to Mama. He jumped off the seat and ran
to the back of the wagon. Rose heard the
rope whir as it uncurled over the endgate. The
picket pins clinked and the hatchet tapped as
Papa drove the pins into the hard ground.
Mama held tight. Her mouth was a thin line
in her pale face. Her hands were white. She
shouted to the horses over the squalling storm.
"Easy now, don't panic. Whoa! Be still,
May! Hold on. Thatagirl, Pet.
Steady. Steady, now!"
Rose felt a back wheel settle firmly
as Papa roped it tight to the picket pin. But
then the wind tipped the wagon wildly to one
side. All the pots and pans crashed one
deafening crash.
Finally Rose felt the other wheel settle as
Papa tied it off. The wagon felt solid
again. Mama got the horses calmed.
Rose looked back to see what Papa was
doing. Now the line of wagons waiting for the ferry
stretched far, far back, too far to see the end of
it. Everywhere was confusion. Babies cried. Children
screamed. Horses reared and pawed the air, or
ran loose with men trying to catch them. Chickens
squawked.
Behind and above, the whole earth rose up in a
cloud of dust that curled overhead. The sky had a
strange, flat light. Then the sunset turned
the huge dust cloud to gold.
"That's your last sight of Dakota," Mama
murmured. She said it in such a strange voice
that Rose looked at her. She was shocked.
Mama's cheeks were damp with tears! Now
Rose's throat ached. Her eyes burned.
Then, before she could stop herself, she was crying, too.
She was afraid, without being sure why.
Papa came back to the front of the wagon.
He looked at Mama in wonderment.
"Why, Bess!" he shouted over the wind.
"What's the matter?"
Mama handed the reins to Papa. "I'll be
all right. In a minute," she said. She pulled
out her handkerchief and wiped Rose's face. Then
she dabbed her own.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I ..."
"Now just you never mind," Papa said quickly.
"You're tired, is all. You'll feel better
when we get across the river, if we can, and get a
good hot cup of tea in you."
A few large drops of rain spattered the
wagon seat and made dark circles on
the dusty backs of the mares.
Rose sniffled and Mama put her arms around
her. Rose felt better. But she was still afraid
of that river. She hoped they wouldn't cross right
away.
In a few minutes the ferry returned.
Papa spoke with the ferryman and came back.
"It took some persuasion, Bess, but he'll
take us across. We have to move fast."
Everything happened quickly. Papa pulled the
picket pins. Mama and the ferryman held the
colts until Papa could drive the wagon
onto the ferry platform. The colts rolled their
eyes fearfully and tossed their heads. They
pranced skittishly. They had never seen a river
or a ferry before.
Papa set the brake and held the lines like
iron. The mares braced back on their
haunches. The wagon began to skid down the
bank.
"Ho, girls! Easy!" Papa shouted.
Their hooves clumped, and the wheels rumbled
onto the wooden platform of the ferry. Then the
colts came on, standing patiently next to their
mothers.
Rose felt a quivery unsteadiness under her,
and she grabbed the edge of the wagon seat. But the
unsteadiness was the whole ferry. It was tilting and
rocking in the water.
Papa stood in front of the mares and spoke
to them. Mama made sure the brakes were fast,
she checked the chickens, and the ferry began to drift
away from the land.
Rose looked back at the shrinking riverbank
and her stomach flip-flopped. Then she looked
forward, across the choppy brown waves. She could
hardly see the other side. When she looked right
and left, all she could see was surging waves of
water.
She held on to the seat with all her might,
to stop the rocking. She felt as if she might be
thrown off at any moment. Her hands ached from
holding so tight, but she would not let go for anything.
The ferry pitched this way and that, and the ferryman
pulled the dripping guide rope as it slithered
past. The ferry skidded sideways and jerked hard
against the rope. Rose felt the whole wagon
shudder under her.
Foamy waves slapped and slopped all around
the ferry's edge, trying to climb onto the
wooden planks. The river wanted to tip the
ferry over. It pushed with all its might. Only
the ferryman's rope kept them from being washed
away.
Jagged bolts of lightning slashed the sky, but
the rain did not come. Rose shivered, but she was not
as scared as before. Mama and Papa were calm, and the
horses stood still. If the horses could be good, so
could she.
After many long minutes, she finally saw the far
shore looming. She saw the shapes of brushwood
trees. Then she could see the light-brown trail
at the river's edge, where the road began. But she
couldn't see the Cooleys' wagons anywhere.
All in an instant, they landed. The horses'
hooves clumped off the ferry deck. The wagon
wheels bumped and crunched onto the riverbank.
Rose breathed a quaking sigh. They were safe
again, on solid ground. They were in Nebraska.

Mama's Journal

Mama sat in the shade of the wagon, writing
about Nebraska.
"The most desolate bare hills I ever
saw," she said, dabbing her neck with a handkerchief.
"Without houses or fields or trees and hardly
any grass."
"I'd just as soon own the whole of it as not,"
Papa said. "It might do for pasture if it were
fenced."
"Well, it reminds me of Lydia
Locket's pocket," Mama joked. "Like the
rhyme says: "Nothing in it, nothing on it,
only the binding 'round it.""
The three wagons had stopped early at a
small creek, so Mama and Mrs. Cooley
could do out a washing. It was hard, hot work. Rose
had carried water to boil. Then she stirred the
tub of steaming water and clothing with the laundry
stick. Mama and Mrs. Cooley hung the
scrubbed and rinsed clothes to dry on ropes
strung between the wagons. Afterward Mr. and Mrs.
Cooley had walked to a farmhouse to buy milk,
while Mama had taken out her writing case
to write in her journal.
It was Saturday, so they would all take their
baths that night. Even when traveling, people stopped
to take their Saturday-night baths.
A little way off stood a large camp
of many wagons.
Papa sat on the wagon tongue, oiling the
harness leather. Rose played fox and geese with
Paul and George in the dust under one of their
covered wagons. Fox and geese was a game like
checkers. They drew the board in the dust, and the
pieces were kernels of corn. For the fox to win,
he had to capture all the geese by jumping over
them. The geese won if they cornered the fox.
Rose had lost all her geese to Paul's
fox. So she watched him play George until
she was bored. Then she walked over to where Mama
was sitting and watched her write. Rose never
tired of looking at that case. Papa had covered
the slanty surface with lovely soft green
felt. At the top of the slanted part he had
carved a clever wooden tray where Mama kept
her pearl-shaft pen for writing letters. Next to it
was an inkwell.
Rose thought of the hundred-dollar bill underneath
the green felt surface. She never saw Mama
take the hundred-dollar bill out of the case. But
she knew it was there, hidden under the envelopes and
writing paper.
"Don't forget about the wrong road," Rose
reminded Mama.
"That's right," Mama said. "Those boys pointed
us toward Crofton this morning, didn't they? We
had to turn around and go back to the river and start
over on the right road."
Mama licked the point of her pencil. She
had spent five cents of her sewing money to buy
the little notebook. Almost every day since they left
De Smet, she wrote something in it.
"Why are you writing everything down?" Rose
asked. "You never did that before."
"No, I didn't," Mama said. "Well,
it is like a letter to myself, about our journey. When our
trip is over, I'll keep it to remind me."
"I couldn't ever forget the Big Muddy,"
Rose said.
Mama said she probably wouldn't either. "But
small, everyday things are easy to forget," she
said. "You will want to remember those things. Life
will be changed when you are grown, just the way life
has changed since I was a little girl. The wild
prairie is tamed now. Big cities are lit
by electrified lamps. People can even visit each
other from miles apart, simply by talking into a
box. The only way to measure our
progress is to read about what this country used
to be."
Rose wanted to see what Mama had written
for that day. Mama handed her the journal. It had
blue-lined pages. Where Mama had written in
it, the words were small and neat, three lines of
writing to each blue line, on both sides of
each page. Mama said she wanted that book
to last the whole trip.
Rose read:

Mr. Cooley got up early and went fishing
but did not get a bite. We were all tired from
being up so late last night, and did not get
started until 9 o'clock. We had taken the wrong
road, so we had to go back to the river and start again
on the right one.

"Did you write about the Indian mummy?"
Rose asked, flipping through the pages.
Paul and George had finished playing fox and
geese. They overheard Rose, and George
piped up.
"Mrs. Wilder," he said. "Rose said you
used to live around Indians. Did you ever really
see any?"
"We lived in Indian Country for a time when
I was young," said Mama. "They even came into our
house."
"What did they look like?" Paul asked.
Mama's eyes twinkled the way they did when
she was telling Rose a story.
"Mama, tell us a story!" Rose begged.
"About Indians. Tell us the story about the
Indian powwow." That was Rose's favorite.
"Please?"
Mama said that story was too long. So she
told about the time a wolf pack followed Grandpa
home from hunting. Rose had heard that story before,
too. But she listened just as intently as Paul and
George to Mama's every word. Even Papa
stopped rubbing the harness straps to listen. When she
got to the end, where Grandpa got home safely,
Rose said, "Tell us another. Just one more,
please, Mama?"
"Maybe tomorrow," Mama said. "The wash should be
dry enough to fold. And I see Mr. and Mrs.
Cooley coming with the milk."
Mama closed the writing case. She locked
it with the key she kept on a leather cord
around her neck.
Mama's journal was like the story of Robinson
Crusoe, thought Rose. Only she liked it
better because it was real.

Going Swimming

The next day they stayed in the same place.
Even when people traveled, Sunday was a day of
rest. The horses were picketed out to graze. The
trip was hard on them. All day long they pulled
the wagons in the heat and dust. They needed a day
of rest, too.
Sunday morning after breakfast, Mama read
aloud from the Bible: ""Be of the same mind one
toward another,"" Mama read from Romans.
""Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low
estate. Be not wise in your own conceits.""
"What's a conceit?"
"It is a way of thinking of oneself," said
Mama, "Conceit is vanity--to be full of
oneself."
"What does it mean, Come to send to men of low
estate?" asked Rose.
Mama laughed. "Con-descend, Rose. Not
come to send. It means ... well, it means to have the
same regard for others as you have for yourself."
"Does it say you should like everybody?" Rose
had liked almost all the other children in school. But
there were boys who were mean to everyone, and she could never
like them no matter how hard she tried.
"No one could possibly like everybody they
meet," said Mama. "It means to be as kind and
generous to friends and neighbors, and even strangers,
as you would be to yourself and your family. It is another
way of saying "Do unto others as you would have
others do unto you.""
The sun was blazing, and another day shimmered
hot. Mama and Mrs. Cooley sat together on
the hammock, having a pleasant talk. Papa
helped Mr. Cooley repair a broken harness
strap.
Rose explored near the wagons with Paul and
George. All across the prairie, the waves of
heat bent everything in sight. The wagons in the
big camp seemed to be sitting on air. A
pale shimmer that looked like water lay in the low
places and filled them. That was a mirage.
They broke off some stalks of dried-out wheat and
chewed the hard, nutty grains. Rose
had to chew a long time before they were soft enough
to swallow.
"You could eat wheat all day and still be hungry,"
Paul said. "But don't swallow any of the seeds
whole."
"Why not?" said Rose.
"It might make a wheat stalk grow in your
stomach," George said.
Rose tried to remember if she had swallowed
any wheat grains without chewing. "You're just
teasing," she said.
"It could happen," George said in a serious
voice. "A boy in school told me. His pa
said the stalk could grow right up your throat and out your
mouth."
"That's right," said Paul. "That's why I always
spit out my watermelon seeds. Suppose you
grew a watermelon in your stomach? How could you
ever get rid of it?"
Rose was sure she had swallowed a
watermelon seed, at least once. She touched
her stomach; it was flat. But after that she was careful
to spit out her seeds, just in case Paul and
George were telling the truth.
Dinner was cold beans with corn bread Mama
had baked the night before. When Rose finished
helping with the dishes, Papa had a surprise.
"How would you youngsters like to go swimming?"
"Golly!" Paul shouted.
"Hooray!" yelled George.
"Swimming?" Rose asked. She didn't know
how, so she was nervous at first. But when she saw
how much Paul and George wanted to go, she
decided it might be fun after all.
Mama and Rose and Mrs. Cooley put on
their oldest patched and faded calico dresses
over their bare skin. Papa and Mr. Cooley
wore just their overalls and shoes. Paul and
George wore just their overalls. Country boys
and girls never wore shoes in summer--except
to church and Sunday dinner, of course.
Rose, Paul, and George raced ahead of the
grown-ups to the river. Clouds of grasshoppers
flew rustling through the grass ahead of them, then
landed with little patting noises that sounded like drops of
rain.
The bank of the stream was steep. They held hands
to steady each other as they climbed down. The stream
was wide, with piles of flat white stones
shimmering in the hot sun. The stones were
scorching hot to walk on. Between the piles were
pools and channels of glittering clear water.
It was not muddy and ugly like the Missouri River.
Older boys and grown-ups were swimming in a
deep pool in the shade of some trees. The boys
were taking turns jumping off a rock.
"Stay close by," Mama said to Rose.
"You must not go near the deep water."
"That's right, boys," Mr. Cooley said.
"Stay right here."
George looked at Rose, but Paul stared
at those shouting, laughing boys and scowled. Soon
enough, though, he joined Rose and George in the
rippling shallow water.
The sandy bottom was warm, and the sand ran away
from under Rose's feet when she walked on it,
making her unsteady. When she stood still, the sand
drifted over her feet until they were completely
covered up.
She was looking at her feet when suddenly
water was running all over her head, and then all
down her face. It ran down her back and into her
dress! The shock took away her breath.
Rose just stood there, her arms outstretched.
Then she heard Paul's voice behind her. He
was standing there, laughing, with his hat in his hands, water
sloshing out of it.
"Golly, Rose!" he shouted. "You're all
wet!" He laughed again and threw water from his hat
right in Rose's face. She gasped.
For an instant she didn't know what to do. Then
Rose lunged at Paul. She hit him in the
chest with both hands, knocking him on his back into the
water. Now he was soaking wet, too. He
opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His
eyes were round with disbelief. He looked so
astonished that Rose began to laugh.
Then they all started splashing one another.
Paul could throw water on her all the hot day,
it felt so good.
They chased one another over the rocks and through the
shallow pools. Finally they were breathless. All
they could manage to do was sit down in the water.
They took turns pouring hatfuls of water
over one another's heads. When it was her turn
to get wet, Rose opened her mouth and drank.
She wished they could go swimming every day.
Finally it was time to go back to the wagons.
Rose was walking ahead of Mama and Papa through
the grass when her right foot crunched
something on the ground. She held the foot up
to see. It was dripping yellow.
"What's that?" Paul asked. He was holding
up his foot, and it was dripping yellow, too.
"Look!" George shouted. "Prairie
chicken eggs. Their nests are everywhere!"
Now they saw them, hidden in the grass. Hens
fled in every direction, and Rose, Paul, and
George found the little low nests, full of
delicate eggs. Rose took two to show
Mama. She could feel the heat from the nesting hen in
her palm. "Can I keep them? We could put them
under the chickens and see if they hatch."
But Mama said it was a prairie hen's
business to raise her chicks. So Rose put the
eggs back.
By the time they got to the wagons, the sun had
dried their clothing.
At sunset they watched thunderstorms marching
across the horizon. The clouds let down dark
curtains of rain. Jagged bolts of lightning
flickered inside the clouds and stabbed at the ground
far away.
That had been a wonderful day. Lying in her
bed, Rose realized that now she knew what an
adventure was. It was when something new and
unexpected happened. Swimming was an
adventure. Even something scary, like crossing the
Big Muddy, was an adventure. She couldn't
wait to see what tomorrow's adventure might be.

The Russians

Each day the three wagons rolled farther
south. They began to pass long lines of
emigrant wagons coming the opposite direction,
heading north.
"Ain't nothin' in Kansas, friend," a man
shouted one day from the seat of a passing wagon.
"Where are they going?" Rose asked.
Papa said those people were going to the prairie. They
hoped to find a future where Mama and Papa
couldn't.
"But why?" Rose asked. "Don't they know
about the drought?"
"I reckon they do," Papa said. "But they
couldn't find what they were looking for where we're
going."
"Well, they must have had bad luck is all,"
Mama said quickly. "Or made
mistakes. There must be some other explanation.
After all, no place could be as hard to live in as
Dakota."
Lines of wagons came from the east, going
west. Other lines of wagons came from the west,
going east. Everywhere they met wagons, people asked
the same questions: "Where did you come from?" "Where are
you going?" "How are the crops up your way?"
Everyone was looking for a better life. But no
one knew where it was.
Many wagons were going south to Missouri. The people
in those wagons, like Mama and Papa, said they had
"Missouri fever."
One day a man in another wagon told
Papa and Mama that he had been to Missouri.
"We stayed ten days and I'll tell you what:
I would not live in Mizzourah if you gave me
the whole of it. Why, hardly any of the houses have
windows in them, just holes, and lots of the women there
have never seen a railroad train nor an
organ."
"That's right," the man's wife said.
"Ignorant is what those people are. Just plain
ignorant."
"And the soil is awful thin and stony," said the
husband. "Right there's the place to go if a man
wants to bury himself from the world and live on
hoecake and clabbered milk."
Mama and Papa drove in silence after that.
Rose wanted to know what hoecake and clabbered
milk was. But it was time for a little girl to be seen
and not heard. For a long while the only sound was the
jingle of the harness and the rumble of the wagon wheels.
Rose felt like a little mouse, afraid to stir.
Finally Papa spoke. "Well, you can't
depend much on the opinion of a man who stays just
ten days in a place and then drags his family
back to dry country," he said. "He couldn't have
seen much in just ten days."
"I expect," said Mama. "There must be
another explanation." But her forehead was troubled,
and she bit her lower lip.
One afternoon the three wagons camped near a
settlement of Russians. None of them had ever
seen a Russian before. The Russians all
lived near one another in long, low houses made
of sod and dried mud that had been whitewashed.
The next day Papa and Mr. Cooley hired
themselves out to the Russian farmers. The farmers paid
them with potatoes and young ears of corn and
cucumbers. Papa and Mr. Cooley even
brought back a small pail of milk, with the cream
still floating on top.
That night's supper was a feast.
"They live in one end of the house, and the other end
is the barn, where the stables are," Papa said.
"It can't smell very good," Mama said,
wrinkling her nose. "And it must be noisy."
"It evens up," Papa said. "In a
blizzard they don't get lost walking to the barn
and freeze to death. The wind can't blow the milk out
of the pail, either. They don't need to build
barns. There's a saving. And the heat of the animals
warms the house. As for cleanliness, Bess, those
places sparkle inside and out with whitewash. They
look as fresh as new snow."
"Don't get any outlandish ideas,
Manly," Mama said. "I've spent enough time in
barns to know I wouldn't like to live in one."
Papa chuckled. "The Russians speak
only a few English words," he said. "They said
their crops were "nix good this year, nix good last
year." But they are just about the friendliest people you can
imagine."
The next day was Sunday. Rose was playing
fetch with Ben after breakfast when she looked up and
gasped.
"Mama!" she shouted.
Mama looked up from writing in her journal.
"Mercy. What is this?" she said. Everyone
stopped what they were doing to look. Walking
straight toward the camp, across a field, was a
large group of people!
"Well, I'll be starched," Papa said.
"It's the Russian folks. I wonder what
they want."
In a moment they were surrounded by strangers,
speaking words that didn't sound to Rose like words at
all. There were fathers and mothers, and old people, and more children
than Rose could possibly count. Their faces were
pink cheeked, their hair was the color of spun
gold, and they all smiled warmly.
"Zdrass tvuityeh," one of the women said
to Rose. Then she turned to one of the men and said,
"Krahseevahyeh, krahseevahyeh."
The men all wore long beards that rested on the
fronts of their crisp blue shirts. The boys
dressed the same as the men.
The women wore handkerchiefs to cover their
heads. Thick braids shining like gilded
ropes hung down their backs. The blue of the
women's dresses matched the men's shirts, and
they wore them over brilliant white blouses with
long white sleeves. Their dresses stood out
stiff and thick with petticoats. Some wore
aprons. The little girls dressed the same as their
mothers.
The Russians seemed to be all one
family. Rose thought they were beautiful. Just
looking at them made her smile. And she loved
the mysterious sound of their words. She wondered how
they had taught their mouths to make such sounds.
The crowd parted, and two Russian women
stepped forward. One of them handed a basket of
potatoes to Mama. "Etuh vom
padahreck," she said.
The other held out a pail of fresh milk
to Mrs. Cooley. The smiling women took a
step back and folded their arms in front of them.
"It must be a gift," Mama said.
"I declare," said Mrs. Cooley. "Can you
imagine anything so kind?"
"Thank you very much," Mama said to the two
women.
"Yes, of course. Thank you," chimed Mrs.
Cooley.
"Da. Da," the women said.
"Pawzhahlusta."
"Thank you," said Papa and Mr. Cooley.
"Thank you," said Rose.
Paul and George were spellbound. They
barely moved their lips.
"The Russians are just curious," said
Papa. "They showed us their houses yesterday. I
expect they'd like to sit and visit a spell."
For a moment everyone seemed awkward and confused.
The Russians did not know what to say. They
only smiled and looked around. Finally Mama
held out her hand, to show the Russians that they were
invited to stay.
"Rose, run and get some grass and sticks,"
she said. "We'll heat up the stove for tea."
The Russians began to drift about the camp.
They looked at the black wagon. They walked
around it and pointed, speaking to one another in
pleasant voices. Some of the men stood admiring
Papa's colts, nodding their heads and pointing.
One of the old bearded men looked at the
hammock that Aunt Mary had netted. It was
strung between two of the wagons.
"Please," Mama said. "Won't you sit?"
He touched the edge of the hammock and set it
swinging.
"Like this," Mama said. She sat down in the
hammock and swung back and forth. Then she got
up and patted the hammock again.
The old man sat down slowly, awkwardly.
Finally he was in the hammock. He smiled
broadly at his friends, leaned back, and in one
smooth motion flipped backward, right out of the
hammock. He landed in the dust with a thud,
upside down with his shoes tangled in the netting.
Everyone was shocked into silence. Then Rose
began laughing inside. But the old man looked so
funny that her laughter kept growing until finally
it burst from her mouth. Then Paul and George
burst out laughing, too.
"Rose!" Mama scolded. But Rose could
see Mama's eyes twinkling.
Then the old Russian man's belly began
to jiggle with laughter. He coughed and said something in
Russian. Then all the other Russians
laughed, too.
Now all the Russians took turns sitting
in the hammock. Some of them fell out on
purpose. Then everyone howled with laughter again.
The Russians had an enormous dog with them,
taller than Rose. His fur was glossy brown.
His clear green eyes and long face made his
huge head look like a wolf's. His ears stood
up so that they looked like a wolf's ears.
"Mama, the dog is smiling at me."
"Why, yes it is," Mama said. "Even their
dogs are sociable."
Rose thought the wolf-dog was the most beautiful
dog she had ever seen. He walked right over to her
and rubbed against her. He licked Rose's ear with
his enormous pink tongue. She wrapped her little
arms around his neck and buried her face in his soft
coat.
Then Rose felt wriggling behind her. She
felt two paws pushing on her back. She
turned and there was another wolf-dog! Except this
one was a puppy and even more beautiful. The
wolf-puppy licked Rose's face, smiled
at her, and then wriggled some more. Its bright eyes
looked right into Rose's. She gave it a big
hug. She fell in love with that puppy. Rose
wanted it for her own.
"Oh, Mama," Rose said.
Mama smiled and looked at Papa with raised
eyebrows. "Well, Manly?"
Rose's stomach flip-flopped as she watched
Papa turn to one of the Russian men. Papa
pointed at the puppy. "That's a handsome pup you have
there," Papa said.
The Russian smiled pleasantly and nodded his
head. "Da," he said. "Krahseevahyeh."
Papa reached into his pocket and pulled out a
coin. He pointed again. "Ahhh," the Russian
man said, understanding for the first time. He turned
to another man and spoke softly in Russian.
The other man nodded his head gravely.
Silently, Rose begged that man with all her
might to sell Papa the puppy.
But the Russian turned back to Papa and
only shrugged his shoulders.
So Papa pulled out another coin. He jingled
the two together in his hand.
The man smiled more broadly and opened his mouth
to speak. But just then a little Russian girl rushed
over and hugged one of his legs. She buried her
face in his pant leg and began to cry. The
Russian man put his hand gently on the little
girl's head. He spoke to her in a soothing
voice.
Then the Russian man looked at Papa and
shrugged his shoulders. "Yah izveenyahyus,"
he said.
"I understand," Papa said, slipping the coins
back in his pocket.
Rose felt herself sinking.
"I tried, Rose," Papa said. He
squatted by her and scratched the puppy's head.
"Looks like a mighty fine dog, too. Maybe
we can find another. It seems to be a special
Russian breed. Perhaps we will pass other
Russian settlements along the way."
Rose couldn't speak without causing herself to cry.
She buried her face in the puppy's coat.
Then it was time for the Russians to leave. Rose
stood up and walked away. The puppy followed
her, but the Russian man called out, and it ran
back and jumped up on the Russian girl.
All the rest of that day, Rose thought about the
puppy. It was almost as if that puppy had been
Rose's, and the Russian girl had taken it
away. It was wrong to want something that wasn't
hers, but Rose couldn't stop herself.
She thought about the beautiful
Russians, too, and their wonderful,
strange-sounding words.
"Mama, how did the Russians learn that
way of talking?" she asked at bedtime. "Who
made up those words?"
"Why, the Russians made them up, of
course," said Mama. "Russians have been
speaking Russian for hundreds and hundreds of
years."
"But how did they know? How did they decide
the words?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Mama.
"That's a good question, Rose. There are many different
ways of speaking in the world besides English. I
suppose people who were living near each other a long
time ago needed a way to explain things to one
another. So they invented words they could all
understand."
Rose thought it must be great fun to make up a
new way of talking, to think of a horse and invent
a brand-new word for it. She tried to think what it
must have been like, before there were any words at all.

The Wilders and the Cooleys were about to drive
away the next morning when some of the Russians
came to say good-bye. The Cooleys were hitched
and waiting just down the road. One of the women reached
into the front of her blouse and pulled out something that
she handed to Mama. Mama was so shocked that she
stared at it with a blank face. It was a cold
baking of biscuits.
"Gracious ... goodness," Mama stammered.
"Well, how thoughtful. ... Manly?" she said in
a helpless voice.
Those biscuits had been right against that woman's
bare skin! Mama's eyes blinked and the color
rose in her cheeks. Finally she pulled out her
clean white handkerchief and wrapped them up. She
smiled politely and nodded her head to show thank
you. The Russian woman grabbed Mama and
gave her a big hearty hug.
"Oh, my!" said Mama. Rose giggled at
the shocked look on Mama's face.
"Ha!" Papa guffawed. Mama glared at
him over the Russian woman's shoulder. Papa
cleared his throat and covered his mouth with his hand.
Then the Russian woman kissed Mama on
both cheeks.
Mama stammered.
Finally the Russian woman patted
Mama on the back so heartily that Mama could not
have said thank you even if she had known the
Russian words. The woman laughed and said,
"Dossveedahnyuh."
Mama blushed crimson and touched her hair.
She looked at Papa again with pleading eyes.

"I'd say you were quite a success with those
folks," Papa teased when they were finally on their
way.
"It was not nearly so funny as you would make it
seem," Mama said a bit grumpily.
Rose giggled again, remembering the look on
Mama's face.
"Now what do we do with these?" She took the
biscuits out of the handkerchief. "They came right out
of the front of her blouse. I hate to throw food
away. But I don't know as I can stomach them."
"They look fine to me," Papa said. "They
look clean, and those are clean folks, Bess."
He took one, broke it open, and popped a
piece into his mouth.
"Delicious. Light and fluffy," he said,
grinning mischievously at Mama. "Give them
to the Cooleys and don't tell them. What they
don't know won't hurt them."
"I can't do that," said Mama. "What if
something was wrong with them? I could never forgive myself.
When we stop for dinner, I'll crumble them up and
feed them to the chickens."

Kansas

"Look at that, girls," Papa said one
afternoon.
"What is it?" asked Mama.
"What?" said Rose.
"Look ahead there," Papa said, clucking to the
horses to speed them up. "Can you see it yet?"
Rose saw fields of corn fluttering in the
wind. Some cows watched the wagons pass. There
was a farmhouse and a barn, and a field of low
spread-out trees, set in rows.
Finally Mama cried out, "Oh, Manly!
It's an orchard, isn't it? We're in apple
country!"
Now Rose saw the small green apples
hanging from the branches. "Is this The Land of the
Big Red Apple?"
"Not yet, Rose," Papa said, his
voice growing lively. "Seems like an orchard
holds up pretty well, Bess, even in a
drought. Just look at those branches, heavy with
fruit! I can't think what could possibly hurt
it, now that it's set."
"The orchard gives that farm such a solid,
tidy look, doesn't it?" Mama said brightly.
A snow-white house and barn sat back from the
road, at the edge of the orchard. Rose thought it
would be cozy to live in that house, and to pick an
apple whenever she wanted.
"And think of all the little songbirds that must
live in those trees!" Mama said. "What a
lovely place to rest and listen."
"Wait until you girls see an orchard in
spring," Papa said. "We had apple trees
when I was a boy, in New York state, and
nothing beats a field of fruit trees in full
blossom."
Seeing that orchard put them all in a
wonderful, happy mood. Mama began
to whistle. Then Papa took up the words, and they
all sang:

"Old Missus married Will "the weaver,"
William was a gay deceiver,
Look away! look away! look away!
Dixie Land,
But when he put his arm around her,
He smiled as fierce as a forty pounder,
Look away! look away! look away!
Dixie Land.

"I wish I was in Dixie, hooray!
hooray!
In Dixie Land I'll take my stand
To live and die in Dixie,
Away, away, away down south in Dixie;
Away, away, away down south in Dixie."

They passed more and more orchards as they crossed the
border into Kansas. Day after day the wagons
drove through lovely towns with grand houses as big
as Rose's school in De Smet. Mama said
they were palaces. A high brick fence surrounded
one of them. Granite lions and dogs guarded the
gate.
For many miles they crisscrossed the Blue
River with its tree-lined banks and its clear,
swift-flowing water. Each place they
crossed was lovelier than the last.
"Kansas is beautiful," Mama declared one
night, putting down her pencil. "If I had
been the Indians I would have scalped more white
folks before I ever would have left it."
Papa agreed. "I can't think what those
folks in Nebraska were talking about. Nothing in
Kansas, indeed. I've never seen such
cornfields."
The road threaded its way through rolling hills
covered with dark leafy cornstalks. The crops
crowded the roadside in places and stretched
away in neat rows as far as they could see. But the
wind was hot and hard, just like Nebraska. Inches
of fine dust lay in the wagon tracks.
"It looks good now," a farmer told Papa.
"But the heat and drought made it tassel too quick.
I'll be lucky to get nubbins out of it."
In other places, rows of tall thorny
trees grew by the road, thick as walls,
keeping half the road in shade. One night they
camped by a grove of those trees. Rose heard
a man from another wagon tell his son they were
Osage oranges.
"The Indians made bows from the heartwood,"
the man said. "Farmers plant them in hedgerows,
to make a natural fence of the thorns."
Oranges! Rose couldn't wait to tell
Paul. She had eaten only three oranges in
her life. They grew far away from South
Dakota.
"Guess what!" Rose announced. "Those are
orange trees over there."
"Oranges?" Paul and George said in
amazement.
"Christmas oranges?" Paul said. "Like the
kind in your stocking?"
"I don't know," said Rose. "But a man
said those are a kind of orange tree."
The three of them explored the dense spiny
trees. Sure enough, they found knobby balls,
about the size of oranges, hanging from the
branches.
"But they're green," said George.
"Oranges are orange."
Paul tried to pick one. "Ow!" he howled.
"Those thorns are wicked!" Finally he got it.
He turned the fruit in his hand.
"Maybe you could just eat it," Rose said.
Paul tested the rind with his teeth, but it
was too hard to bite into. He got a rock and
smashed it open. They each took a piece of the
sticky, greenish-white meat to look at and
smell. Rose touched hers to the tip of her
tongue. Then Paul and George did, too.
"It's awful," said Rose. It left a
horridly bitter taste in her mouth.
"Must not be ripe, whatever it is," Paul said
with a disappointed frown. They spit out the bad
taste and threw away the pieces.
But Rose wasn't discouraged that the Osage
orange tasted bad. Anything she did with Paul
and George was fun. Rose could hardly
remember when she had been happier than she was
living on the trail, in the little black wagon.
But the very next night, something happened that
changed Rose's feelings. A cool, refreshing
wind had blown away the day's smothering heat. A
million stars freckled the clear, sweeping
sky. Mr. Cooley built a campfire and
both families gathered around it to sing hymns before
bedtime.
Rose sat on one of the wagon tongues,
next to Paul and George. Paul was teasing
George by bumping him. Paul bumped him so
hard one time that George slipped off the wagon
tongue and fell to the ground.
"George, be still," Mr. Cooley said.
George dusted himself off and sat back down
on the tongue. He gave Paul a cross
look and elbowed him in the ribs. Rose had
to stifle a giggle.
When they had tired of singing, Mrs. Cooley
said, "I napped so long today, I wonder that
I'll ever be able to sleep tonight."
"When I was a sprout, my father often read the
Bible to us children on Sunday," Papa said. "It was
soothing, and," he added with a chuckle, "it always
put my brother and me to sleep."
"Good idea," Mr. Cooley said. "Why
don't you read to us, Wilder? I enjoy a good
Scripture reading now and then."
"Do read, Mr. Wilder," Mrs. Cooley
pleaded.
"Not me," said Papa. "That's my wife's
fancy. What do you say, Bess?"
Mama blushed shyly, but all the grown-ups
insisted. "Well, there are the last few chapters
in Hebrews that I like so well," she said.
Mama fetched the Bible from the wagon,
lit a lamp to see by, and sat down to read.
""Faith is substance of things hoped for,"" she
read, ""the evidence of things not seen.""
Everyone sat very still, listening to Mama's clear,
colorful voice--except Paul. He
squirmed and sighed. He kicked his feet in the
grass, which made the wagon tongue bounce and
squeak.
"Stop that, Paul," Mr. Cooley said,
frowning fiercely. Paul stopped. But then he
picked a blade of grass to play with. Rose
watched as he reached behind George and tickled
George's neck. George rubbed his neck as
if brushing away a fly. Rose had to stifle
another giggle.
Then Paul tickled George's ear.
George saw him do it and angrily pushed
Paul. Paul pushed back and George nearly
fell to the ground again.
"You boys be still now, or I'll wear you out,"
Mr. Cooley snapped. "Excuse me,
Mrs. Wilder."
Mama looked at Rose with a raised
eyebrow: She must be quiet as well. Then
Mama continued reading. But just knowing she had to be still
made Rose feel restless.
She stared into the campfire. She examined her
feet and picked a scab on her big toe. She
drew a circle in the dust with her foot. Then
she watched an ant dragging a large crumb through
the grass.
From the corner of her eye, Rose noticed
something. Paul was grinning slyly. He lifted his
hands and twisted them together. Then he held them up
in the firelight. Behind him Rose saw the shadow
of his hands on the wagon's footboard. It was a
long-eared rabbit. The rabbit wiggled its ears.
It opened its mouth and nibbled.
Rose clapped a hand over her mouth to squelch
a giggle. Paul winked. He changed his hands.
Now on the footboard was the shadow of a wolf, with
long ears and a long nose. The wolf shadow opened
its mouth, and Paul whispered a howl in Rose's
ear, "Ow-oooooh!"
Rose could not contain herself a moment longer. She
laughed loudly, right in the middle of a pause in
Mama's reading.
"Rose!" Mama said.
Rose's face blazed with embarrassment. But
she couldn't help giggling. "I'm
sorry, Mama," she said. "I couldn't help
it! Paul made me."
Mr. Cooley took two great strides
toward Paul. His powerful hand swooped down and
grabbed Paul's shoulder. Mr. Cooley
lifted Paul off the wagon tongue. Paul
winced, and Rose winced for him, rubbing her same
shoulder.
"Wait, Papa, I ..." Paul began
to speak. But then he fell silent. Mr.
Cooley dragged Paul away, behind their wagon.
"Oh, John," Mrs. Cooley said. "Must
you? The boy's a little restless, is all."
"He ought to know by now, Emma," Mr.
Cooley grumbled, taking off his belt. "When
I say be still, I mean be still."
Tears flooded Rose's eyes. "Mama,
Mama, I ..." The words snagged on a lump
in her throat. She hadn't meant to blame
Paul. It was only that the wolf shadow made her
laugh out loud.
"Hush, Rose," Mama ordered.
Now, even if she could have, Rose dared not
speak. She and George sat there on the wagon
tongue, cold and stiff, listening to the sound of
Paul's punishment.
Mama and Mrs. Cooley sat still as
statues. Papa coughed and stared at his shoes.
No one said or did anything.
Finally they all heard Mr. Cooley say,
"Now get on back there and behave yourself."
Rose bent over and stared at the ground as
Mama began to read again. She felt the wagon
tongue dip as Paul sat on the far end. Her
eyes could not see through the blur of tears that hung
in them.
That night as she lay in bed waiting for sleep,
tears trickled down the sides of her face.
"Are you awake?" Mama whispered in the
darkness.
"Yes," Rose sniffled.
The wagon creaked as Mama got out of bed and
sat on the wagon seat next to Rose. A
sliver of pale moonlight fell between the edges
of the curtains, lighting Mama's face.
"Here," Mama said gently. "Hold out your
hand." Rose felt a handkerchief. "Blow your
nose."
Rose wiped her eyes and then blew her
nose. "Paul didn't do anything
wrong, Mama. He didn't, really. I just
laughed. I couldn't help it. It was the wolf
shadow." The words tumbled out between the sniffles.
"I understand, Rose," Mama said gently.
"But there's nothing to be done about it now. You knew
it was time to be still. And Paul knows well enough that his
father won't stand for disobedience."
"But People-Paul won't like me anymore,"
Rose hiccuped.
"Paul is not a baby," said Mama. "He
knows it wasn't your aim to get him punished."
Mama reached out in the dark and hugged Rose.
"Now go to sleep. You will feel better in the
morning."
Rose lay in the dark, her thoughts jumping about
like jackrabbits. She thought of Paul lying in the
dark of his wagon, hating her. She knew she would
not feel better in the morning.

A Great City

The horses trudged across Kansas, mile
upon dusty mile, sunrise to sunset, day after
day. Nothing changed. Yet everything was different.
Paul did not speak to Rose. He wouldn't even
look at her. So she did not ask to ride with him
and George anymore, and they did not invite
Rose to play fox and geese. Rose kept
herself to herself.
They drove by a fence tangled with blossoming
vines. "Look at those lovely morning
glories," Mama said. The white flowers formed
little trumpets with blushing throats deep enough
to hide the bees butting in them. They were
beautiful, but Rose only sighed.
"You're as broody as a setting hen
lately," Mama said. "Do you feel ill?"
She pressed a cool hand to Rose's forehead.
"No," Rose answered.
"Are you homesick?"
"No," said Rose. "Maybe a little. I
dreamed about Aunt Mary last night."
"I miss the folks at home myself, now and
then," Mama said with a sigh. "But the days are so
filled up with new sights and with making camp,
cooking, washing, and packing ... why, I
scarcely have a second to think about it!"
Rose didn't want to be broody, but she
couldn't help it. She was lonely for the way things were
before. She was also tired of the bitter taste
of dust. She was sore from sitting and jolting on the
hard seat all day. But what cannot be cured must be
endured, Rose thought. Everyone was tired of dust.
Everyone's bottom ached.
"This sulking won't do," Mama said
cheerfully. "I think we need a bit of music.
What will it be, Rose?"
Rose shrugged.
"All right, then," Mama said. "I will start."
She began to sing in her high, sweet voice.
Papa's deep voice quickly joined in. Rose
listened to the happy sound of their voices weaving
themselves together.

"There's a low green valley on the old
Kentucky shore,
Where I've whiled many happy hours away,
A-sitting and a-singing by the little cottage door
Where lived my darling Nelly Gray."

"Something with a little spark to it, Bess," Papa
requested, tapping a foot on the dashboard.
This time they sang,

"We'll rally round the flag, boys,
We'll rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom!"

Rose felt her spirits lifting. She hummed
along to the next song, which was "Oh, Susanna."
Then they all tapped their feet as Mama and
Papa sang,

"Oh, drive dull care away
And do the best you can,
Put your shoulder to the wheel
Is the motto for every man.

"Then drive dull care away
For weeping is but sorrow,
If things are wrong today
There's another day tomorrow."

Rose surprised herself by grinning.
"That's my prairie Rose," Papa said,
reflecting her grin. "I was worried you had lost
your smile, and we'd have to go back for it."
They were passing two cows grazing by the road.
Rose listened to their bells clanging merrily with
each tug of grass. One cow's bell
was deep: clang, clang, clang it rang.
Then there was a pause, then clang, clang,
clang again. The other cow's bell had a higher
voice. It rang once loudly, DING!
followed by two short notes, ding-ding.
Those bells made a song: clang,
clang, clang, DING! ding-ding. Suddenly
Rose shrieked, "They're playing it! The cows
are playing "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay"!
Listen!"
"By George, you're right," said Papa.
"It's plain as pudding, tones, time, and all."
They laughed uproariously, startling the mares so
that they turned their heads. The cows bolted in
terror, their tails flying and their bells
clattering madly. That started a new wave of
laughter.
When they had finally caught their breath, Rose
helped Mama and Papa sing the song themselves:

"Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!"

Rose felt much better; she was glad
to smile again.
One day the wagons rested by a hotel at the
edge of a great city. A man told Papa it was
more than two miles to the post office in the center.
Papa said the town would be too crowded for the colts
to run free. So he tied them to the endgate, and the
three wagons drove in.
A parade of sights rolled past Rose's
eyes. First there were houses and yards and
cemeteries, and then they passed stores, smaller
ones at first, then bigger ones. There were many
hotels and then a livery stable, some more hotels,
and a corral next to a blacksmith shop. All
of it was the same city, Topeka. Mama said
Topeka was the capital of Kansas.
Along the streets stood very tall poles
strung with dozens of wires like spider threads.
Those were telephone lines, Papa said. Topeka
was an up-to-date town, with every modern convenience.
"Just think, Bess. A fellow can check crop
prices or find the right bit for his horse without
ever setting foot off his land! Why, the savings in
time alone must pay the cost of a telephone, not
to mention sparing a man his team."
They drove deeper and deeper into a confusion of
tall brick buildings. Rose's neck ached from
looking up at them. Some of the buildings had six
rows of windows. She read aloud the names painted
on them: "Bryant's School of Music;
Yost and Watson Grocers; J. S.
Greeley Real Estate; Al ... Al
... how do you say that one, Mama?"
"Alhambra," Mama told her. "It is a
Spanish name."
"Alhambra Bath House."
Some of the big glass windows on those tall
buildings had fabric awnings in red and white
stripes. Others were striped blue and white.
Great awnings like droopy eyelids shaded the
sidewalks in front of the shops. The buildings
drowsed in the hot sun.
Some had beautiful patterns built into the
bricks and elegant columns and arched windows.
A man looked out one of those windows and shouted
to someone on the sidewalk.
The streets were choked with wagons, buggies, and
carriages. Where two streets crossed, a
policeman stood making the wagons take
turns driving through.
The sidewalks were crowded too. Men in
overalls and suits stood outside shops next
to stacks of boxes and barrels. A few women,
dressed in fine silk dresses and feathered
hats, walked arm in arm with men in tall black
hats.
The hubbub of voices talking, feet clumping
on the sidewalks, horses whooshing and nickering,
wagons rattling, and buggy wheels squeaking
filled Rose's ears. Her eyes were dazzled.
It seemed like an enormous celebration going on,
like the Fourth of July. Rose tingled with
excitement.
Now the web of wires overhead grew more
dense. Suddenly a little one-car train full of people
came rushing at them. It rode on rails, right
down the middle of the street, with no horses or
engine to pull it. The car was attached by a pole
to the wires above. Rose gasped to see sparks
flying where the pole touched the wire.
"That's an electric streetcar!" Papa
marveled. He held the reins tight, talking to the
team to calm them. The mares obeyed but tossed their
heads nervously. Then, when the streetcar's bell
suddenly clanged, Mrs. Cooley's
team shied in terror and tried to run away. She
had to fight to keep them from dragging the wagon onto
the sidewalk.
In the middle of the city, the ground was covered with a
soft, dark blanket. When the horses walked
on it, you could barely hear their footsteps. The
wagon wheels made no sound at all. Everything
was quiet and lovely. It didn't seem real.
"It looks like tar," Mama said, peering over
the side of the wagon.
"Can't be tar," said Papa. "Tar is
sticky."
"Papa, look!" Rose said. "Look at the
places where the horses walked."
Their hooves had left dents. But right away
the dents began to fill in! Soon the black
ground was as smooth as if no horse had ever
walked there. The blanket had healed itself!
"It can't be rubber," Papa said. "Rubber is
too costly. We have to stop here for supplies
anyway. I'll ask the merchants."
The three wagons pulled up to a store.
Papa and Mr. Cooley left to buy feed for the
horses. Mama talked with Mrs. Cooley
while Rose, Paul, and George waited on
the wagon seats. She watched men, wagons, and
horses flowing through the street. Two ladies in
fine velvet dresses, carrying parasols,
came out of a hotel and walked across the street.
Three older girls came around the corner of a
building. They were talking and laughing in high,
lively voices. They were so beautifully clothed
that Rose could not stop looking at them. One wore
a dress of red serge trimmed with satin and
velvet, and a hat with ostrich feathers on it. As
she walked past the wagon, Rose could see her
lovely clear face. It seemed to be lighted from
within.
Suddenly the girl looked up at Rose.
Rose smiled bashfully. A flicker of warmth
passed over the girl's beautiful face, but then
her expression swiftly turned ugly. Rose
was startled. Then the girl turned to her friends,
whispered something, and laughed.
Rose pulled her sunbonnet down to hide
her face. Her neck burned hot. She stared
into the lap of her faded and patched blue calico.
She tucked her hands under her legs and looked at
her bare feet, streaked with dust. All of a
sudden, she felt terribly out of
place. She felt everyone was looking at her.
Rose wanted to leave Topeka right away.
Finally Papa returned and they drove on.
"That stuff on the ground is a new
manufactured thing called asphaltum," Papa
said. "They say it cost the merchants
twenty-five thousand dollars to cover the streets
in this part of the city."
Mama gasped. "How could they possibly
afford it? They must have been bragging."
"I suppose they save on loss from dust
damage to their goods," said Papa. "And a city
without dusty, muddy streets would draw trade
away from other places. In time that asphaltum
could pay for itself."
"But to part with such sums, in hard times like these,"
Mama said. "I can't imagine such
extravagance!"
Papa cleared his throat.
"What's in that package, Manly?"
Papa reached into the pocket of his overalls and
pulled out a small paper bag.
"Stick candy!" Rose shouted. Papa held
the bag open, and Rose picked a red one and
popped an end into her mouth. Peppermint was her
favorite candy flavor. Mama took one,
too.
"You know the package I mean," Mama said,
arching an eyebrow. "The big one you put in the
wagon."
"Well now, Bess. That's something I was about
to explain," Papa said, clearing his throat again.
"You see, a fellow was in that store trying to drum
up business for this cooking invention. They call it
a fire mat, made of a new patented thing
called asbestos."
"You bought one," Mama said calmly.
"It's a tremendous unheard-of thing," Papa
said earnestly. "It's like a stove lid. You put
one over the hottest part of the fire, and nothing you
set on it will ever burn."
Mama turned and looked in the wagon. "That's
a mighty big package for a stove lid."
"I figure to sell a few along the way,
for a profit. I double my money at ten cents
each. I can trade them, too." Papa reached
back and pulled one out. It was as round as a
small plate, gray, and rough like pasteboard.
It was edged with a narrow strip of tin.
"Are you sure about this?" Mama said.
"It looks like a match would burn it right up."
"I didn't believe it either," Papa said.
"So a bunch of us went out back of the store, to the
blacksmith's shop, and got him to blow his fire
up full blast. Hot enough to melt horseshoes.
This fella stuck one of his asbestos fire mats
right in it. It glowed bright red, and everybody started
to jeer.
"But then he took it out, and that mat was good as
new. To save our lives we couldn't make the
thing burn. You put one under a pot and the pot could
boil bone dry, but not a potato in it would so much
as scorch. Why, every woman alive needs one!"
"When did I ever burn potatoes, I'd like
to know?" asked Mama. "If any man came
around hinting that I let my cooking burn, he'd
get short shrift, I promise that!"
"Don't you worry, Bess," Papa said, and
patted her hand. "When you try it, you'll see.
I'll get rid of every one of them."
"I hope so," said Mama. "But ten cents
doesn't grow on trees. Not for me,
anyway."

Journey's End

One afternoon, they drove past a tall
whitewashed post. Mama pulled out Papa's
pocket watch.
"It is exactly two twenty-four and three
quarters P.m.," she said brightly. "And we are
finally in Missouri."
Now they saw groves of trees along all the
streambeds and around the farmhouses. Trees lined the
streets of the towns.
"Look at those big sturdy oaks, Rose,"
Papa said. "And there are some hickory trees.
That's a good hard furniture wood. That tall
one with the sleek leaves is a walnut tree. In
a month or so you'll be able to pick the walnuts
right off the ground."
The road dipped into lush hollows, climbed
over sunny hilltops, and then fell again
into cozy valleys. Great gray rocks poked out
of the ground. The wagons crossed fast-running
streams of clear rippling water.
All one afternoon rain poured down, turning the
air clean and sweet. It was the first rain they had
driven in, and Papa's oilcloth curtains
kept the wagon perfectly dry. The
rain refreshed their spirits. Mama began to whistle.
It made Rose happy to hear it.
"Is this The Land of the Big Red Apple?"
Rose asked.
"Not quite, but soon," Mama said. "This is the
beginning of the Ozark Mountains. The Land of the Big
Red Apple is in the Ozark Mountains."
Rose felt the excitement growing. Mama was
friendlier toward strangers. She and Papa talked
about land prices and crops with people they met along the
way. One night they shared a watermelon with
another traveling family. Mama even let the
strangers cook their supper on her stove.
The road grew steep, and it was stony and
rutted. The horses' metal shoes clattered
on flat flinty stones that lay everywhere. The land
was covered with thick leafy trees and bushes. Every
turn of the road brought them a new view of
woods and hills.
Even the sky was prettier. It felt so
close to the ground that Rose thought she could almost
reach up and touch it. The treetops seemed
to brush the undersides of the clouds. The distances and
hills were bathed in a drowsy blue haze.
"The beauty of it just makes you feel wide
awake and alive," Mama said. "It is such a
contented-looking land."
"You could almost live on the looks of it,"
Papa agreed.
They passed grand apple orchards. Children
playing in front of cozy farmhouses and farmers
working by their barns watched them drive by. Some of
those houses and barns were large, made of
sawed-wood boards. But there were others made of
hewn logs laid on top of each other.
In front of those farms, along the road,
wooden fences zigzagged. The fences were made of
split logs that had been carefully stacked.
Horses trotted up to the fences, swishing their
tails, to peer in curiosity at the passing
wagons.
In the corners of many of those zigzag fences,
fruit grew wild. There were blackberries and
seedling peaches. There were plums and cherries. And
some luscious-looking fruits that even Mama and
Papa had never seen before. All this fruit
seemed free for the taking, just ripening, falling off,
and going to waste.
"Can we stop and take some?" Rose asked.
"Just the ones that fell on the ground?"
"No," Mama said. "We haven't time to stop
and ask permission."
Beautiful birds, some of them the brightest blue
and others brilliantly red with crests on their
heads, flitted between the bushes. Cottontail
rabbits, with shorter ears than jackrabbits,
bounded away into the thick underbrush with Ben yapping
after them. Brown birds that looked like prairie
chickens skittered away from the wagon track
into the bushes. Squirrels chattered, and the trees
quivered with the rasping sounds of countless insects.
There was water every littlest way, in springs and
brooks and rushing streams. They stopped at a
spring of bubbling water as clear as glass, pouring
out of a hole in a ledge of rock. The air was
cool there.
The wagons stopped often now, to let the
horses rest and drink. Their work was harder, for they
had to pull the wagons up the steep hills. Their
ribs had begun to stick out.
One day the three wagons crested a ridge,
rounded a bend, and drove into a little town nestled in
a shallow valley. A white church tower poked
above the green treetops.
"This is it," Papa said. "This is
Mansfield, Gem City of the Ozarks."
Mr. Cooley's wagons led the way.
Papa chirruped to the horses, and he, Mama,
and Rose leaned forward for a better view.
Railroad tracks ran along their right side,
sitting high on an embankment. Then they
disappeared behind some large white houses with big
yards and shade trees. In the backyards Rose
could see chickens and pigs.
A gravel path ran alongside the road.
Queen Anne's lace bloomed beside the path, the
delicate heads nodding in the gentle breeze.
They drove slowly down that street, past more
houses, into the town square. The streets around the
square bustled with wagons and people, all flowing
toward the depot on the far side. A train
whistled, and Rose spotted purple smoke
unfurling over the trees. Boxes were being brought
onto the platform with scraping, thumping sounds.
Beyond the depot, on the other side of the tracks,
a flour mill puffed small clouds of steam.
The square was a tidy park surrounded by wooden
hitching posts. Teams were tied up all around it,
the horses' tails swishing away flies. In the
middle of the park, a white bandstand gleamed
brightly. Delicate lacy molding decorated the
roof and railing. Some children played there, pretending
to give speeches.
Rows of buildings faced into the park from the other
three sides of the square. "Drugs. H.
Coday," read the sign on one building.
"Reynolds Bro's Cheap Cash House," said
another. There was an opera house, a bank, and a
saloon. Men sat in tipped-back chairs in
front of the stores, watching the comings and goings.
"Seems to be a thriving little town, doesn't
it, Bess?" Papa said. Just then the train
whistled hoarsely, and the thundering engine slid into the
depot, screeching to a stop.
Rose and Papa looked at Mama, waiting
for her to speak. Mama's bright, searching eyes
looked at everything. "Yes," she finally said.
"Yes, it does. I do believe this is where we
stop, Manly."
"And where we start anew," added Papa. He
reached behind Rose to squeeze Mama's hand.
Snuggled between Mama and Papa, seeing the
happiness in their faces, Rose felt safe and
contented. Their journey really was at an end. Now
her travel-weary eyes looked at
Mansfield full of curiosity and hope.

Friends Again

The three wagons camped at the edge of town,
in a grove of trees just beyond the last house.
Trains passed several times a day, and in the
night. Each time their shrieking whistles set Ben
and the town dogs howling. The trains made grinding,
crashing noises as they arrived and left the
depot.
"This is not the quietest place we have camped,
is it?" Mrs. Cooley remarked in the morning.
"That racket should be music to your ears,
Emma," Mr. Cooley said. "Trains mean
commerce, and with commerce comes prosperity."
"I'm sure we'll all get used to it in
time," Mama said. "After all, we got used
to those howling Dakota winds."
Now that their traveling days were over, they camped
every day as if it were Sunday. Rose helped
Mama string the hammock between two trees. Near
the wagon Mama hung sheets to make a
screened place for changing and for taking baths. The
table and chairs were left out, next to the
wagon. After breakfast Mama left the
cookstove where it stood.
Papa tied the mares under some trees. They could
rest all day now, eating grass and weeds.
There was no more packing and unpacking. When
Rose finished her breakfast chores, Mama said
she could play. She found a parade of black
ants climbing the trunk of a rough-barked tree.
She followed their trail to a patch of furry
moss. From there she followed it to a thicket of
bushes, then a rocky slope, and a small
hollow full of brown-eyed Susans with
fluttering yellow petals.
The ants had worn a little road in the dust
by all their traveling. They were busy and hurried,
stopping to touch antennae, without seeming to do anything
at all.
The clunk of a metal pail startled Rose.
She looked up, into Paul's face.
"We found some grape vines," he said,
watching the parade of ants. "Your mama says
to come help pick."
He dropped the pail he was carrying on the
ground and stalked off. Rose picked it up and
followed him.
The vines were gnarled shaggy branches of a bush
that had wrapped themselves around the trunk of a big
tree. The branches had climbed up into the
tree's limbs. The large, heart-shaped leaves
covered the whole tree. Vines of leaves hung
from the limbs to the ground.
Rose didn't see the grapes at first. But
then she saw that Paul and George had climbed
up onto the limbs of the tree. They were sitting
there, reaching down and lifting up the leaves with one
hand and tugging at big clusters of dark
blue-purple berries with the other. Those were
bunches of grapes.
"Mrs. Cooley and I are going to start a
fire for a washing, Rose," said Mama. "Just
pick what you can reach. The boys will pick what
is on the limbs. And remember to leave the
unripe grapes for later."
The air around that tree smelled warm and
sweet. A curious bee flew around Rose's
head, and she brushed it away. She picked a
ripe grape and looked at its smooth dark
skin. Then she put it in her mouth and bit. The
grape burst cool and sweet on her tongue.
In the middle were several tear-shaped
seeds.
She ate another grape, and another, and
another. Then she remembered the pail and dropped
the next grape into it. But she noticed that the skin
of it was broken. Its purple juice stained the
pail. Rose decided she would keep only
perfect grapes. So she ate that one. Then she
ate two more with split skins.
Finally she found a perfect grape, smooth and
round and plump. She placed it gently in the
pail.
Rose felt something whiz past her ear, like a
bee. But when she looked around, there was nothing there.
She went back to picking. Something hit her on the
head. An instant later she heard something fall
plink! into her pail. A crushed grape had
joined the perfect ones there.
Rose looked around her again, and then she looked
up. Paul was straddling a limb. He was leaning
over, intently picking grapes. Rose thought she
saw a twitch in his face, but Paul didn't
look at her. He just kept picking. George
was sitting on a limb on the other side of the
tree trunk. Maybe that grape just fell off
one of the bunches, Rose thought.
SPLAT! Something squishy hit Rose on
the shoulder--another grape. This time she glared at
Paul. He was staring at a cluster of grapes in
front of him. But now Rose was certain she saw
the quiver of a grin.
She picked a grape and held it over the
pail, thinking. She mustn't throw it, she told
herself. Mama would be cross. Rose looked
around. There was no one to see.
So, as hard as she could, Rose flung that
grape up at Paul. It smacked on his
overalls. A dark stain marked the spot.
"Say!" Paul shouted. He glared down at
her, his face dark and pinched. The hard edge in his
voice stunned Rose.
He quickly picked a handful of grapes and
looked around. Then he threw them at Rose.
She ducked, but the grapes splattered her
anyway. She felt the sticky pulp in her
hair.
Now Rose picked as fast as she could, until
her fist was dripping purple juice. She drew
her hand back to throw.
"ROSE!"
Mama's sharp, angry voice
boomed out right behind her. Rose's heart skipped
a beat. She dropped her hand and let the crushed
grapes fall to the ground. She stared at her
feet.
"Turn around, Rose," Mama said sternly.
Rose turned. Bits of grape slid down her
forehead. Her fingers were sticky. She felt a
damp spot on her shoulder where a grape had
stained her dress, and she noticed another stain
on the front.
"Land sakes!" Mama cried out. She
clapped a hand over her mouth. A stifled laugh
came out, and she turned away. Rose stared at
Mama's hem, not knowing what to think.
Finally Mama turned back. She cleared her
throat and smoothed her apron.
"You have soiled your dress," she said soberly.
"And throwing perfectly good food around is a sin
and a waste, Rose. Now get on back to the
wagon and clean yourself up. Dampen those stains,
too, before they set. Then you can just sit on the
wagon seat until I call you to help with
dinner. I think you've had enough grapes for today."
Rose frowned at Paul. He grinned at
her mockingly from his perch in the tree. Then he
stuck his tongue out, wet and purple. Rose
spun and stomped off to the wagon. She could hear
Paul call out to George, as if nothing had
happened. "Over here, George. There's a
bunch of ripe ones."
Rose washed her face and hands and rinsed the
sticky pulp from her hair. She dipped water from
the bucket and poured it on the stains on her
dress. Then she rubbed hard. She complained
to herself the whole time. It wasn't fair. She
hadn't started that grape fight. Paul had
tricked her. Now she had to be good while everyone
else had fun.
Suddenly Paul peered at her around the end of the
wagon.
"Serves you right," he said.
Rose was too surprised to speak.
"Serves you right for telling," Paul went on,
walking up to her. "Too bad you're a girl,
or you'd get a good licking. Then you and I would
really be even, wouldn't we?"
"That's not--" Rose began, but Paul cut
her off.
"I don't care about the whipping," he said.
"But you tattled. You said I made you
laugh. That was just about a lie anyway. It
wasn't my fault you couldn't keep quiet."
Paul's blue-black eyes were the color of a
thundercloud. His black eyebrows pinched down, and
his mouth curled. Rose cringed.
"I wasn't telling," she said. "I didn't
mean you made me. I only meant the wolf
shadow made me laugh."
"Then why didn't you say it?"
"I tried. But Mama wouldn't let me. And
I was scared of your pa."
"Pshaw!" Paul snorted. "He's nobody
to be scared of. Every boy gets a licking now and
again."
"Mama and Papa never even spank me,"
Rose said. "It must hurt awfully."
"I already told you, it's nothing," said Paul.
"I'd just as soon forget about it."
"But why didn't you tell your pa you didn't
make me laugh?" Rose asked. "Wouldn't he
listen if you--"
"Look here," Paul interrupted. "I
don't tattletale on anybody. Not even
George. And I wouldn't tell on a girl,
even if she lied all day. My pa would thrash the
hide off me anyway. So just shut up about it!"
Just then Mrs. Cooley called out Paul's
name.
"I better get back to picking," Paul
said. He turned to leave, but then he stopped and
looked at Rose over his shoulder. He grinned
shyly. "I found a place where there are lots of
hazelnuts. After dinner, I'm going to go hunt
some."
"That would be fun," said Rose, smiling back.
She finished rubbing out the stains, then climbed
onto the wagon seat. She sang to herself and
laughed at two squirrels chasing each other through
the trees. Rose didn't know how it had
happened, but Paul had forgiven her.

The Little Dog

Papa rode May out of camp each morning,
looking for work. He took some of the asbestos
fire mats with him to sell. In the evening Rose
and Mama eagerly watched for him to come riding
back, to tell them the news.
"Hello, girls!" he called out from the
saddle. Then he tied May up, washed
his hands, and sat down to eat.
"Saw a place today, but it was too big for
us," he said between bites of corn bread and beans.
"The land's real stony here. It won't do for
growing much oats or wheat. That's why folks got
to planting orchards. Used to be all big trees
around here. After the timber companies cut them
down, they sold the bare land off for farms."
Mama listened with a fierce new light in her
eyes. She asked many questions. "What about the town?
What about the merchants?" she asked. "Do they
appear honest? Is the trade brisk?"
"It has everything we could want, Bess.
It's central for shipping cream and eggs, right on
the trunk line between Memphis and Kansas
City. They ship express to St. Louis, too.
The town ought to grow fast."
"Thank goodness," Mama said. "If the hens will
just keep laying. How do eggs sell?"
"Twelve cents a dozen."
"It isn't as much as in Dakota," Mama
said, frowning. "But then I suppose everything is
a bit less here. What about churches?"
"I'm afraid we'll have to do our worshiping
without a Congregational church, Bess. There's
Methodist and Presbyterian."
"We'll choose once we're settled," said
Mama.

The next night Papa said, "Saw a real
pretty place, Bess. Had its own pond.
Most of it already in pasture. You would have liked it
well enough. But it's just twenty acres and we
haven't any stock to graze. A man can't
support a family on that."
Papa saw many farms. Some were just right but too
costly. Some were too hilly, or too flat.
Some had smooth pastures, but they flooded in the
spring. Some farms sat on dry ridges, and
water had to be carried a long way.
"We can't look forever, Manly," Mama
said. "We must be settled before snow flies."
"Don't you worry," Papa said. "Something will
turn up."
Mama and Mrs. Cooley did chores together,
sewed, and read. Mr. Cooley also looked for
work, and for a home for his family.
Rose played in the woods every day with Paul and
George. They were glad to be free of those hard
wagon seats and could hardly be still. But
they learned right away that the Ozark hills were
covered with sharp stones and rocks. Every day they
stubbed and cut their toes. Mama wrapped
Rose's bruised toes in scraps of old
clothing, to keep her from hurting them again.
The woods were full of the good clean smells of the
living earth: rotting logs, dusty weeds, and the
damp underneaths of last year's oak leaves. They
found toadstools growing like little parasols on dead
trees, and peeking from under dead leaves. Mosses
that looked like the teeny-tiniest forests clung
to rocks.
They tasted wild greens after letting the mares
sniff and nibble. Mama said not to eat anything the
horses refused. They found a bed of clover and
gathered every blossom. Then they sucked the sweet
juice from the roots of the little petals. They ate
dandelion leaves and the bitter stems. They ate the
tender leaves of dock and the soft ends of grass
stems pulled from the joints.
They climbed trees. At first Rose could not
pull herself up. Her arms trembled with the effort.
Her feet scrambled for something to stand on. But
Papa showed her how to hug a tree trunk. Then
Rose could push up with her legs and pull with her
arms at the same time.
Soon all three of them were perched in the trees
like birds. Rose climbed from one limb
to another, higher and higher, until the limbs got
too small to hold her. When she looked down,
her stomach flip-flopped.
She could see the dusty tops of the wagon
covers. The wagons looked much smaller. She
could not see the horses' legs under their bodies.
Even the long-legged colts looked round and
stocky from up there.
The chickens looked like toys. Rose liked
teasing them by dropping green acorns on them. They
squawked madly and ran as if they had seen a
hawk's shadow. Rose giggled.
"I know you're up there," Mama said. "The
chickens won't lay as long as you're scaring them
half to death."
Mama had no legs at all. Papa was just a
hat, walking around the wagons.
Squirrels scolded them from the limbs of other
trees. Birds hunted for seeds and insects.
The tree bark was alive with ants and moths and
soft fuzzy caterpillars, striped brown and
black.
At a creek near the camp Rose found
strange stones. She found a thin little one in the
shape of a triangle. Its edges were wavy all
around, and the point of it was sharp enough to cut tree
bark.
"That is an Indian arrowhead, I'm sure,"
Mama said. "Indians lived here a long time
ago. They used small stones to make sharp flat
points for their hunting arrows."
Rose collected dozens of Indian
arrowheads and kept them in a scrap of folded
cloth. Paul found a stone that Mr. Cooley
said had been an old Indian axhead.
Rose was sifting through stones in the creek one
morning when she looked up and saw that a little dog
was staring at her. Its short coat was white with
black and tan spots. Its pointy ears stood
up from its pointy face.
Rose saw right away that the little dog was
hungry. Its hip bones and ribs stuck out, and
it looked at Rose with big, sad eyes. Its
tail hung limp. The sight of it made
Rose's heart ache.
They stared at each other without moving for a moment.
Then the little dog looked at the water and panted.
It laid its ears back and looked from side
to side, as if it were about to run away.
"What's the matter?" Rose asked. "Are you
thirsty? Go ahead and drink. I won't hurt
you."
She dipped the palm of her hand in the water and
gave herself a drink, to show that it was all right.
"I won't hurt you," she said again.
The dog's ears pricked up. Then it began
to lap up the water in the creek. But it kept its
eyes on Rose.
"Stay here," Rose said to the dog. "Don't
go away." She ran to the wagon.
"Mama, could I have some corn bread? Could I
have a johnnycake, please?"
"It's almost noon, Rose. Dinner will be
ready as soon as Papa gets back from town."
"It isn't for me," Rose began, all
fidgety. "It's for ... for somebody else."
"Who?" Mama said, a puzzled look on her
face. "Who could it be for, Rose?"
"For ... for a little dog. If we don't give
it something it might starve."
"Show me this dog," said Mama.
She followed Rose through the woods,
down to the creek. The little dog was there, lying by the
water. It looked at them with sad eyes.
"The poor thing," Mama said. "Look at it,
half starved to death. It must have gotten lost from its
wagon."
Rose sat on her heels and talked to the dog
while Mama went to get some food. She brought
back a little corn bread, and a tin cup with some
milk in it. The dog got to its feet and backed
away when Mama put the food down. Then it
cautiously sniffed at the food and nibbled the
corn bread.
"You can stay and watch it eat," Mama said.
"I have to finish cooking. I'll whistle when it's
time to come help with dinner."
Rose watched the dog eat every last crumb of the
bread. It lapped up the milk with its dainty
pink tongue. Then it gave itself a little shake and
started to walk away.
"Wait!" Rose blurted. The dog stopped
and looked at her.
Just then Mama whistled. Rose picked up the
tin cup and walked slowly backward, up the
hill toward the wagons.
"Come on," she said. "Are you still hungry?
I'll give you some more milk. Come on. Come
on."
The dog took three steps toward Rose.
Then it stopped and looked around. Rose could see
it shivering.
"Come on. I won't hurt you. What's your
name? Come and see my friends, Paul and George.
We won't hurt you."
The dog's tail twitched once. Then it
turned and trotted off into the woods.
"Wait!" Rose pleaded. "Come back!"
The little dog stopped again to look back at
Rose. Then it kept going until it disappeared.
Rose sighed and trudged back up the hill.
Mama was standing at the stove holding her head
back from the spattering meat. "Did it eat it
up?"
"Yes," Rose said glumly. "But then it
went away. Why didn't it stay, Mama? Why
didn't it come with me?"
"Stir the mush while I make gravy," said
Mama. "Perhaps it has been mishandled. It may
be just as well, Rose. A stray animal could be
diseased. It's all skin and bones. But don't
fret. In time we'll find ourselves a good
dog."
Rose looked out into the woods, but nothing
stirred. She hated the thought of that little dog wandering
about, hungry and lonely.

A Little House

Papa rode into camp for dinner without saying
hello. Rose's eyes met Mama's for a
worried moment. He took a long time tethering
May, then stopped to stroke Pet. Although Rose
and Mama never forgot, he checked the pails
to make sure the horses had water.
He washed his hands at the bucket by the wagon
without a word. But he looked at Rose for an
instant, and she saw a twinkle in his eye. Then
she stopped worrying. Papa never looked
excited when he really was. Instead, he became
calm and quiet.
Mama knew it too. She set the bowls of
food on the camp table. Then she waited, arms
folded, staring at Papa while he rinsed his hands
and dried them carefully on the towel. Then he
wet his hair and mustache, and combed them neatly.
Finally, he sat down and waited for Mama to say
the grace.
That was the shortest grace Rose had ever
heard. She barely had time to close her eyes
before Mama finished:
"Thank-thee-Lord-for-the-bounty-we-
are-about-to-receive-Amen. For heaven's sake,
Manly! What is it? Have you found a farm?"
"In fact, I believe I have," Papa said
quietly, pushing beans onto his fork with a piece
of corn bread. "We can see it, soon as dinner
is over."
There had never been a faster dinner. Rose was
still eating when Mama got up to change into her best
calico. She was in such a hurry, she put the
buttons in the wrong holes. When Mama was
excited, anyone would know it.
Papa saddled up the mares.
"You stay in camp and mind Mrs. Cooley
while we're gone," Mama said. Then Pet and
May carried her and Papa out of sight.
They were gone all afternoon. Rose had never known
such a long afternoon. She played fox and geese with
Paul and George, but she kept losing. Every little
while she dashed down the hill, to see if the dog
had come back to the creek. But it was nowhere to be
seen. The rest of the time she listened for Mama and
Papa returning.
At last, after Mrs. Cooley had
begun to cook supper, Rose heard Mama
whistling as she and Papa rode into camp.
Papa's eyes glowed. Mama's whole face was
shining. Rose had never heard her talk so fast.
"Just what we wanted," she told Mrs.
Cooley. "So much, much more than we'd hoped for.
It has a year-round spring of the best water you ever
drank. There's a log house, in woods, on a
hill, just a mile and a half from town. Rose will
be able to walk to school! It's a little house, but
I have always lived in little houses. I like them.
"And, just think, to cap it off, a thousand young
apple trees, in nursery rows, just waiting to be
planted as soon as we can clear the land."
"Apple trees?" Rose asked excitedly.
"Are we going to have apples?"
But the grown-ups were too busy chattering
to notice her. Paul and George looked at
Rose with big eyes.
"It's a modest place," Papa told
Mr. Cooley. "Sits on several rocky,
brushy ridges. That's why it's only ten
dollars an acre. I confess I know nothing about
apple trees. The fellow who owned it bought the
trees, and then he ran out of money.
"But the timber's in fine shape. You can see the
place could be profitable, if we can hold out
till the trees bear fruit."
Finally Mama said to Rose, "How would you like
to live in a little house--a log cabin in the
woods--like I did when I was a little girl?"
"Are we going to have apple trees?"
"Apple trees, and more water than we can ever
use, and all the wood we could ever burn."
Mama's voice was light and cheerful. They
talked about that farm until it was past everyone's
bedtime. Mama said they would talk to the banker about
the farm in the morning.

Rose woke from a bad dream: A growling
animal had been chasing her through the woods. She
lay in bed, trying to remember it. Outside the
wagon, the forest was cloaked in darkness and
perfectly still, listening to itself. No wind stirred the
trees. Even the insects had gone to sleep. In
the distance a train wailed mournfully.
Suddenly Rose heard a real growl! It
came from right under the wagon. She sat straight
up.
"All right now. Easy there," a
man's voice said. "Wilder!" the voice
called out. "Wake up!"
Rose peeked through the corner of the curtain. It
was Mr. Cooley, carrying a lantern. He had
come to get Papa for morning chores. Rose
heard another growl.
Papa stuck his head out the other end of the
wagon. "What is it, Cooley?"
"Don't you know?" Mr. Cooley said.
"There's a runt of a dog under the wagon. Acts
like he wants a taste of my leg."
"A dog?" Rose shouted.
Papa climbed out of the wagon to look.
"What in tarnation?" Papa said.
Rose climbed down the wagon wheel and
looked. In the wavering light of the lantern sat the
hungry white dog with the black and tan spots.
"It's him, the one I told you about, Papa!"
Rose shouted. "He came back."
The dog walked over to Rose and sat down.
Rose scratched his head, and his dark eyes
gleamed up at her in the light. She stroked his
short fur, feeling the hard muscles underneath,
and the bones. Rose just had to hug him. He gave
her face a little lick.
"Seems the little feist has adopted us,"
Papa said, scratching his head. "Every farm needs
a good watchdog. Shall we keep him?"
"Yes!" Rose shouted. She hugged the dog
again, and he wriggled in her arms. His tail
slapped the leaves.
They all got dressed and Mama made
breakfast. But first, she gave the little dog some more
corn bread and milk, and some cold beans.
"It's the least we can do," Mama said. "He
certainly has proven his loyalty."
The children all watched the little dog eat.
"Even if he were all filled out, I bet one
of your best hens would outweigh him, Bess,"
Papa said.
"He's no prize," Mrs. Cooley
agreed. "But he sure is lovable."
"Maybe he belongs somewhere," said Paul.
"He looks like he's been on his own for some
time," Mr. Cooley said. "Probably trying
to keep up with an emigrant wagon."
Rose could see the little dog wasn't beautiful
like the Russians' wolf-dog. He was small and
fragile-looking. His spindly legs trembled and
his eyes were sad. But Rose didn't
care. There was something about that dog.
"I'm going to take the very best care of you," she
told him. He pricked up his ears and looked
at her. "I'll never let you go hungry again."
Mama, Papa, and Rose shared little bits of
their breakfast with him. He ate everything right up,
licked their hands in thanks, then lay down next
to the wagon wheel.
Rose watched him the whole time she helped with the
dishes. He was lying down, but his ears were awake,
turning this way and that to the sounds of the camp.
"What should we call him?" Rose wondered.
"He might have a name, but we would never learn
it," said Mama. "We'll think of a new name."
"How about Jack?" Rose said. "You like the name
Jack for a dog."
"He's no Jack," said Mama. "He
needs his own name. Now, what's a good name for a
faithful watchdog? How about ... Fido?"
"Fido? What's a Fido?"
"That is a very old Latin word. It means
faithful and loyal."
"Fido," said Rose. The little dog's ears
perked up. "Fido," she said again, a little louder.
The dog raised his head, looked at Rose,
blinked and panted.
"He smiled at me!" Rose shouted. "He
knows we are talking about him. Fido knows."
Then she said it again, "Fido," just to hear it one
more time. Yes, she decided. Fido was a
perfect name.

Lost!

Rose sat on a stump next to the wagon,
watching Mama brush and braid her hair.
Papa lathered his face at the washbasin, set
on the folding table. Then he began to shave.
Mama and Papa were going to town to see the banker.
"What's a banker?" Rose asked.
"A banker lends money," Mama said. "He
is lending us money to buy the farm."
"But what about--" Rose stopped before she said
another word. She remembered she must never mention
the hundred-dollar bill in the writing case.
"That isn't enough to buy a farm," Mama said,
knowing what Rose was going to say. "The banker lends the rest."
She brushed her thick, roan-brown hair in
sweeping strokes. Mama's hair was so
long that even when it was tightly braided, she could
sit on the braid. Rose loved the silky,
smooth feel of it right after Mama brushed it out.
It slipped through her fingers like water.
Mama was the most beautiful of her sisters.
Everyone said that. Rose thought Mama was most
beautiful in the morning, when her hair fell over
her back, with the light racing through it. But she always
wove it into one wide braid. For dressing up
she wound the braid into a big, tight bun on the
back of her head. She fastened it in place with
tortoise-shell pins.
"It's pretty when the braid hangs down,"
Rose said. "Can't you leave it like that?"
"It isn't a ladylike way to wear it,"
Mama said. "A woman can't go to town looking as
if she just came from feeding the chickens."
Fido leaned against Rose's leg. They
watched Mama fluff her bangs into a soft little
mat on her forehead. She checked herself in the
looking glass that hung from a tree branch.
All the while she whistled "Oh, Susanna."
Then Mama buttoned her shoes with the
buttonhook and went to the wagon. She got out a
large pasteboard box, and Rose followed her
behind the hanging sheets of the changing place. Mama
took off her calico dress and folded it
neatly. Standing in her bleached-muslin
petticoats and her corset trimmed with lace,
she opened the box and took out her best dress.
It was the black cashmere that she had worn to marry
Papa. Rose had not seen it since that long-ago
night when they had said goodbye in South Dakota.
Mama squeezed her arms into the tight
sleeves of the basque. She carefully buttoned
all the glittery jet buttons up to her chin.
Then Rose helped her center the points of the
basque exactly in the middle.
Rose handed Mama her gold bar pin, which had
a little house and lake etched on the surface.
Papa had given it to Mama the Christmas before
they were married. Mama pinned a bit of ribbon,
the color of robin's egg, to the front of the
stand-up collar. Then she pinned on her black
sailor hat, with the blue ribbon around the crown.
It had a spray of wheat standing straight up at
one side.
Her braided bun tilted the hat forward just a
little, giving Mama a jaunty look. The narrow
brim rested on the curls on her
forehead.
The last thing she did was pull on her brown
kid gloves. Rose thought Mama had never
looked more beautiful.
When she came out from the dressing place,
Papa just stared at her for the longest moment. His
eyes had a soft look in them.
"Look at the time," Mama said, touching her
hair. "You had best shake a leg, Manly.
We don't want to keep Mr. Freeman
waiting."
Papa chuckled and went to the screened place
to change his shirt. Then he combed his hair and
mustache and put on his best hat.
Mama took out a clean handkerchief and spread
it on the table. Then she laid on it her little red
cloth pocketbook with mother-of-pearl sides.
Rose knelt on one of the chairs and leaned her
elbows on the table.
Mama whistled "Yankee Doddle" as she
went to the wagon and brought back the writing case.
She set it on the table, unlocked it, and opened
it. She lifted the felt-covered lid of the compartment
where she kept her writing paper and envelopes.
Mama lifted the paper and envelopes. She
looked underneath. Then she stopped whistling. She
drew a sharp breath. The light in her face went
out, all in an instant. She quickly opened the lid
of the other compartment. She peered inside it. Her
jaw sagged and her forehead knotted up.
Rose shrank from the sight of Mama's face.
Papa came and looked over Mama's
shoulder. Mama turned to him with pleading eyes.
"Can't be," he said calmly.
The hundred-dollar bill was missing!
Everything changed in that moment. To look at the
expression on Mama's face gave Rose a
terrible sinking feeling, like stepping in a hole she
didn't know was there.
"I last saw it in Fort Scott, in
Kansas," Mama said. "When I wrote the
folks in Dakota." She began rustling through
everything in the case. She shook every sheet of
writing paper and laid them all out on the table.
She looked inside every envelope. She took every
letter she had gotten and saved out of its envelope and
unfolded it. She looked into the empty
envelopes and shook them out.
Then Papa took out the ink bottle and pen and
turned the whole case upside down.
He shook it so the hinged lids swung in the air.
But nothing more came out.
Mama and Papa sat down. Papa twisted
an end of his mustache. Mama twisted her
handkerchief. Rose sat perfectly still, afraid
to move.
"This simply cannot be," Mama said. "We must
be losing our senses." Then she looked at
Rose. Her face was pinched.
"Did you maybe tell someone, Rose? Even
just accidentally, without meaning to?"
"No," Rose said softly. Mama had said it
was a secret, and Rose had kept it.
Now Papa looked at her too. "Did you
ever see a stranger near the wagon when we
weren't here?" he asked. "Did you see any
strangers in the camp?"
"No." Her eyes began to sting.
"It must be here, Bess," said Papa
matter-of-factly. "Where else could it be?"
They sat there still and silent for the longest time.
They stared at that case as if it might begin
to speak at any moment, as if it might tell them
where the hundred-dollar bill had gone.
Rose heard the murmur of Paul and
George's voices on the other side of their
wagons. The leaves rattled and whispered in the
trees overhead. The insects thrummed all around
them. But the writing desk just sat there, empty and
silent.
"Well," Mama finally said. Rose knew
what Mama meant: What cannot be cured, must be
endured. Mama peeled off her gloves. She
turned them right side out, finger by finger, and smoothed
them on the tabletop.
"You may as well go explain to the banker,
Manly," she said. Her eyes shimmered with
tears, but her voice was steady.
"Now don't go blaming yourself, Bess,"
Papa said gently. He put a hand on her
shoulder. "We aren't licked by a long sight.
We've always managed. Something will turn up."
"You know as well as I do: Nothing turns up
that you don't turn up yourself," Mama said.
"Perhaps this will prove providential in some way,
but I can't see how. We came so far, and we were
so close." She bit her lip.
"Don't forget, we still have the colts," said
Papa. "You know how folks admire them everywhere
we go. Even with things being as bad as they
are, anybody would give a hundred and
twenty-five for Prince without batting an eye."
"No, Manly!" Mama cried out. "Prince is your colt. If we must sell one of the
colts, sell mine. Little Pet isn't as
sturdy as Prince, and I'll be too busy on
the farm to break her any way."
"Let's not get ourselves too far down the
road," Papa said. "We need to think on this a
spell."
Rose's heart sank. She loved Little Pet
and Prince like family. Her throat ached at the
thought of either one being led away by a stranger.
"Rose, you may run and play now," Papa
said.
But Rose didn't feel playful. She
wanted to be by herself and think. She walked into the
woods, with Fido prancing alongside. He
didn't know about the hundred-dollar bill, or the
colts. He was only grateful for Rose's
company. She stooped to scratch his head. A tear
ran down her cheek and splashed on Fido's
nose. He gave Rose's cheek a lick.
For that moment, Rose wished she could be Fido
instead of herself.

A Wonderful Discovery

"Whatever will you do?" Mrs. Cooley asked
at supper.
"We think it best to take our time deciding,"
Mama said pleasantly, but her voice was
solemn. "What will you folks do?" she asked.
"My farming days are over," Mr. Cooley
said. "I'll sell the second wagon and team.
That will put a roof over our heads till I find
steady work in town. I'm tired of fighting the land
just to keep storekeepers and bankers in silk
stockings."
"I guess we will always be farmers," Mama
said with a sigh. "What's bred in the bone never will
come out of the flesh. Town life doesn't agree
with me. It's so peaceful in the country. That little
farm was just ..." But she stopped herself from saying more.
No one knew what to say. Rose cast a
worried look at the colts.
"We can hold out so long as the weather does,"
Papa finally said. "It's a blessing to be this far
south, anyway. Here it is September and still
warm and green as summer."
For some days Papa loaded boxcars at the
depot. That was hard work. He was so tired after
supper that he climbed into the wagon and fell right
to sleep.
One day he packed apples and brought back a
sack of them, sweet and juicy. Both
families sat around the campfire eating
crisp, tangy apples. Papa let Rose
feed the cores to the horses.
The next morning, while Papa was feeding the
horses, Mama whispered to Rose, "I have a
surprise for Papa. Don't say anything
until we eat."
Mama put salt pork on to fry. She said
Rose could help slice up some onions, nice
and thin. Rose knew how to peel and slice
potatoes and apples, but she was still learning how
to use a knife for other things. Onions were
slippery. It was hard to make the slices even.
The onion juice made Rose's eyes tear.
She rubbed them with her hands, but that only made them
burn. They stung so that Rose nearly cried.
"Go splash water on your face," Mama
said, wiping Rose's teary eyes with the hem of her
apron. "I'll finish the onions. You can help
with the apples."
When the meat was cooked, Mama put it on the
platter to drain. Then she laid the onion
slices in the bubbling hot drippings. She cored
apples and Rose helped slice them, with the red
skin still on.
When the onions began to brown and smelled
deliciously sweet, Mama laid the apple
slices on top. Then, over all of it, she
sprinkled brown sugar. The smell of the apples
and onions frying together made Rose's mouth
water.
Finally Papa finished his chores. He washed
his hands in the bucket and came to the table. Mama
had covered the platter with a cloth. She brought it
to the table and set it down. Then she snatched away
the cloth with a flourish. Steam rose in the cool
morning air from the golden brown stack of onions
and apples and fried salt pork.
A wide, happy smile spread across
Papa's face, crinkling the laugh lines around his
eyes. He took a deep sniff and sighed with
contentment.
"You're the cat's whiskers," he said. "My
favorite dish--fried
apples'n'onions."
"I helped!" Rose shouted. Papa got up
and gave Mama a hug.
"Manly, really!" Mama said, blushing.
Then Papa gave Rose a brushy kiss.
"Thank you, girls," he said. "We haven't
much, but sometimes I think there isn't another thing in
the world I'd lift a finger to take."
When Papa said that, Rose knew everything would
be all right.
They were so hungry, they ate everything. There
weren't even any scraps left over to give
Fido.
"What will he eat?" Rose asked Mama.
"He's getting his strength back, and he's a
resourceful dog," said Mama. "I saw him
catch a mouse yesterday. Fido won't starve."
At dinner Rose left some beans on her
plate, to scrape for Fido. But Mama
scolded her for wasting food. Then Rose let
Fido lick the empty plates. But Mama said
that was unhealthy.
After that Rose sneaked food from her plate when
Mama and Papa weren't looking. She hid
crumbs of corn bread in the folds of her
dress. She carefully held her hand against her
leg when she stood, so the crumbs wouldn't fall.
Behind the wagon she knelt and let the crumbs
drop on the ground. Fido gobbled them up, his
tail wagging gratefully.
When Mama wasn't looking, Rose also let
him lick her empty plate.

One day Mr. Cooley hitched up his
second team and drove away his second
wagon. He had sold it.
A man from the livery stable came to look at the
colts. When he left, Papa said the man had
made a fair offer for Little Pet. "It's enough
to get a mortgage on the farm, Bess. And
Freeman, the banker, says it's still for sale."
Rose's stomach bunched up in a knot.
"It would be hard to let Little Pet go," said
Mama thoughtfully. "But I can't see another
way. If we don't buy a farm, how will we
live? Once the harvests are in, there won't be
any work for hire until spring plowing. The
horses need room to graze. The hens need
shelter."
"But, Mama ..." Rose began.
Then she realized she had interrupted.
"You must remember what is important,
Rose," said Papa. "Winter is coming. You and
Mama and I need a home. All the horses will
surely go hungry if Little Pet stays. But
if someone buys her, she is such a fine colt,
they will feed and brush her every day, and give hex a
warm bed of clean straw every night. Then the mares
and Prince will have more to eat. We will all be better
off."
"Yes, Papa," Rose said softly.
"Don't you worry about this now," he said,
sitting in a chair and pulling Rose onto his
lap. He nuzzled her cheek. "Your mama and
papa have been through far worse scrapes, and look
at us now!"
The next day Mama did a washing. Rose was
stirring the pot when Paul came running, calling
to Rose, "We're moving into town! We're going
to live in the hotel." His eyes were wide with
excitement. "My folks are going to run it.
George and I are going to help. Gee
willikins, Rose. It's so exciting!"
Rose had never been in a hotel, although they
had driven past many. Mama had told Rose that
hotels were not places where children went, which made
hotels wickedly interesting.
"What could you do in a hotel?"
"I can carry bags," Paul said, throwing his
head back importantly. "Papa says I can
help meet the trains when they come in, and bring the
customers." But then he smiled like a boy again.
"Golly, Rose. I like it so much better here
than in South Dakota!"
The glow on Paul's face lifted Rose's
spirits. She liked it better here too. But she
thought about the Cooley's loading their wagon and
driving out of camp. Then she felt sad. That
night the forest whispered lonely sounds to her. The
crickets chirped mournfully in the cool
autumn air.
The grapes were almost gone now. But the next day
Mama and Rose found one last vine that still had
clusters the birds and bees hadn't picked over.
They collected a pailful.
Rose sat at the table sorting out the spoiled
ones while Mama wrote to Grandma and Grandpa.
Rose didn't eat a single one. They needed
them all to make a pie. Mama said they were so
juicy, she would have to thicken them first.
"I never heard of grape pie," Rose said.
"Neither did I," said Mama. "But we
don't have enough sugar to make jam."
Rose held up a wrinkled grape for Mama
to see. "This one?"
"That one is good," said Mama. "Now, what shall
we tell Grandma and Grandpa? The weather has
been clear and dry. Very pleasant, really."
Mama's pen scratched across the page, dipped
into the inkwell of the writing case, and scratched some
more. Rose put the pie grapes in a bowl on the
table. She set the bad ones aside, to feed to the
horses.
The rich brown wood of the writing case was so
shiny that Rose could see a reflection of the bowl.
Along the bottom of the case was a thin crack,
where Papa had attached the sides. Something white
was in there, in that seam. A speck of white.
Rose picked at it with a fingernail.
"Don't do that, Rose. It's bothersome when
I'm writing."
"Something is stuck there," said Rose. She
picked some more. The speck became a tiny corner
of paper. She pinched it and pulled. It was a
piece of Mama's writing paper.
"Rose, please," Mama said without looking
up. "I asked you not to do that."
Rose pushed it back in and finished sorting.
She gathered the spoiled grapes in a towel and
took them to the mares and colts. They saw her coming
and jostled her greedily with their noses. Rose
carefully counted out the same number of grapes for
each. They nibbled her hands with their soft lips,
giving her gooseflesh and making her giggle. But
Rose was not in a playful mood. She was thinking
hard about something else.
When the horses had eaten all the grapes,
she climbed into the wagon. In the corner, next
to one of the trunks, was the wooden box with the
willowware dishes in it. That was also where Mama
kept her writing case. She wedged it tightly
into the same box, to keep the dishes from moving about
on the bumpy roads.
Rose looked into the dark corner, into the box.
The wrapped dishes were stacked upright. She stuck
her hand down and felt between them, one by one. It was
hard to see in there. She fished with her hand around the
sides of the plates and the newspaper wrapping.
She felt the rough boards of the wooden box and the
smooth coolness of the china. Then her hand
brushed something else, something like the newspaper but
different. Her fingers gripped it, and she pulled
it out of the box. It was a piece of paper, but it
had green printing on it. A number had been
printed boldly in all four corners: "100."
Rose opened her mouth to shout. But she could not
find her breath, and she wasn't sure what
to shout. She climbed trembling out of the wagon and
ran to the table. Mama was still writing with her head
bowed.
"Mama," she managed to croak.
Mama looked up. "What is it, Rose?
Why are you shaking like that?"
Rose still couldn't speak. So she laid the
piece of paper down on the table, in front of
Mama. Mama's eyes popped wide open.
Her jaw dropped.
Rose finally blurted out, "I found it! In the
wagon. In the plates!"
"But ... but ... how?" Mama stammered in
disbelief.
"There," Rose said, pointing to the seam in the
writing case. "It fell through the crack, when it
was in the wagon."
"But ... how in Heaven's name did you know?"
Rose showed Mama the bit of white paper
stuck there. Then Mama's whole face lit up.
Her arms scooped Rose into a great, tight
hug.
"Praise be!" Mama cried. "My
wonderful, smart little girl. Now, let's find
Papa. With so much hard work ahead, there isn't a
moment to waste."

Going Home

Rose sat on the wagon seat between Mama and
Papa. Fido sat on Mama's lap, panting
contentedly. They were going home.
The ground was raw and muddy where the horses had
been tethered. It was bare and dusty where the wagons
had sat. Where there had been so much life all those
days, there were only worn spots with rocks
sticking up. That exciting summer of traveling and
playing with Paul and George was truly over.
"Is it far?" asked Rose.
"Just on the other side of town," Mama said.
Rose grinned happily. They weren't going
far away at all. She had been smiling ever
since she found the hundred-dollar
bill. When Mama had told Papa about it, a
joyful look had filled his face. There had never
been a more wonderful moment.
"You saved the day, Rose," Papa had said.
"A father couldn't be more proud."
Now they drove through the town square. The afternoon
sun lit the front of the hotel where Paul and
George were living. Men sat in chairs along the
high wooden sidewalk, whittling sticks of
wood with knives and talking.
They passed Hoover's Livery Stable, where
some boys were pitching horseshoes in the shade.
Then a blacksmith shop. In no time they left
behind the last houses of town and drove up a long
hill. The railroad tracks ran alongside
their right. On the left spread a large orchard. Rose could see spots of red that were ripening
apples.
"Are we there?" Rose asked. "Is this our
farm?"
"I wish it were," said Papa. "Our trees
are too little to make apples yet. But in a few
years, they'll look just like those."
At the top of the road was a tall, square
building with a beautiful curved roof. Big
windows looked out all around. A bell tower
stood above the double front doors. The ground
around it was trodden bare. Beyond it was woods.
"That's the schoolhouse," Mama said.
"Isn't it lovely?"
The school was shuttered and Rose thought it
looked lonesome. The hitching posts were empty.
No children played outside. It was harvesttime, and
everyone was helping bring in the crops.
"Will Paul and George go there?" Rose
asked hopefully.
"Of course," said Mama. "It's the only
school in town."
Rose let out a little sigh of relief.
Over her head, Mama and Papa chatted in
lively voices.
"We don't have much to fall back on, after
buying salt pork and cornmeal," said Mama.
"It makes me uneasy."
"We can live off the timber for now," Papa
said. "There's plenty of it. And so long as we
get some land cleared, we'll have crops next
summer, and grazing land for a cow or two. When the
apple trees come into bearing, we'll do just fine."
"We ought to be able to pay off the
mortgage by then," Mama said. "How long will it
take the trees to bear?"
"I'd say five years, six for certain."
Rose was shocked. She'd be thirteen by the time
she could eat their own apples!
"So long?" Mama said. "Well, I
suppose we can make it till then. If we can
just keep our health. I hope we haven't been
too hasty, Manly."
"We went over all that, Bess," said
Papa. "Just put your mind off it. Things are
going to work out square, you'll see."
The road entered the woods, and the railroad
veered away to the south. The wheel tracks sloped
gently down, through a leafy tunnel of tree
limbs. Stumps stuck up in the middle of the
trail. The metal rims of the wheels rang out as
the wagon jolted and lurched over rocks.
Then the road seemed to go almost straight up a
long, long hill. But Papa turned Pet and
May away from it, onto a faint set of
tracks in a little valley.
A sparkling stream rippled alongside. It
tumbled over flat ledges and flowed smoothly through
shallow pools under the trees. The wagon
tracks ended at one of those pools. The horses
stopped to take a drink.
"Here we are!" Mama sang out. "What do you
think?"
Rose looked up at the green hills
surrounding the little valley. The late-afternoon sun
made quivering patches of light on the water.
But she didn't see a farm, or anything that
looked like apple trees.
Papa tightened the reins and whistled to the mares.
They raised their dripping muzzles and leaned
forward to pull the wagon across the stream and up the
hill.
The woods rose up in front of them.
Shafts of yellow sunlight pierced the
treetops. Big flat rocks lay loose on
the ground. The horses' hooves slipped and
clattered on them as they struggled up the hill.
Finally Papa whoa-ed the horses and set the
brake. The wagon came to a halt in a
clearing. Several gray birds with striped wings
flew across it, scolding loudly. A little log
house sat to one side, huddled beneath some tall
trees. Dead branches and last year's leaves
cluttered its roof. Piles of brush and
half-cut logs lay scattered on the ground.
The house had a tumbledown look, but
to Rose's eyes it was the most beautiful log
house in the world. She scrambled across Mama's
lap, climbed down the wagon wheel, and ran right
to it.
"Be careful!" Mama called out as Rose
turned the corner of the house. A rough thick
door hung open from a yawning doorway. She
peered inside. There was a narrow little room, a
lean-to, with a hole in the roof for a cookstove
chimney pipe. Dead leaves covered the packed
earthen floor.
Right inside there was another open door. Beyond it
Rose found a larger room, with a wooden floor.
It was dark, except for a tiny bit of daylight from
the open doors behind her. The house had no
windows.
The room was bare, and it smelled musty, like the
woods. Dead leaves had blown into the corners.
Rose stepped inside. The floor gave a
startling squeak under her foot.
A big fireplace made of rocks rose
up one wall. All the walls were made of logs
piled on top of one another. In between the logs was
dried mud that had crumbled away in places.
Above her head were rafters and the underside of the
wood-shingled roof.
"Rose!" Mama's muffled voice came through
the walls. "Come and help unload. It'll be
dark soon."
"Coming," Rose called out. Her voice sounded
hollow in the empty house.
Outside, she found Fido sniffing around a
pile of brush with his nose to the ground. His ears and
tail stood at attention. Rose picked up one
of the chairs to carry it toward the house.
"Wait," Mama said. "We're going to spend
one more night in the wagon."
"Can't we sleep in the little house, Mama?
Please?"
"Not until we scrub it, top to bottom,"
Mama said. "I never thought I'd look forward
to scrubbing floors. But I can hardly wait
to set up housekeeping again."
The sun set, the light faded, and the forest
turned a ghostly gray. The wind died, and the
trees seemed to be listening as the shadows stole
in.
In the silence Rose could hear the sound
of water bubbling. It chuckled from a shadowy
place in a gully behind the house. Rose wanted
to look, but she decided to wait until daylight.
Papa took the lantern out of the wagon. He
pressed the squeaky spring to lift the globe,
struck a match, and touched it to the wick. The
lantern shone like a star, plunging the shadowy forest
into blackness. Papa held it up, looking for a
good place to hang it.
Suddenly Fido burst out barking. Rose
nearly jumped out of her skin. At the edge of the
lantern's circle of light stood a man! He
had appeared from nowhere.
Rose scooted behind Mama. Fido stood at
attention, a low growl rolling in his throat.
For the longest moment no one spoke or moved. Only the trees and bushes stirred in the wavering
lamplight. The man just stood there, bony hands
at his side, feet bare, big eyes gleaming at
them. Patches covered his overalls. He was thin,
with hollow cheeks and a long beard.
The man took a step closer. Fido gave
a sharp warning bark that echoed from the gully. The
man flinched. So did Rose. Mama's hand
slid into the pocket of her dress, where she kept
her revolver.
"Hello, there," Papa finally said.
"Hello, friend," the man answered politely.
"I hate to be a bother, but I was passing by and
seen your lantern light. That's why I come up
these wagon tracks. Thought you might know of some
work I could trade out ... for vittles. I'm a
right hard worker, and I don't drink none."
Mama's hand withdrew from her pocket.
"These are hard times," Papa said. "We know
it ourselves. But as you see, we're just moving in.
Took our last cent to get this place. What
food I could trade would just about starve a rabbit.
You ought to try in town. It's over the hill that
way, 'bout a mile and a half."
The man looked around the clearing but didn't
stir to leave. "You got a good place here," he
said.
Papa took off his hat to scratch his head.
"I guess it will be, someday," he said. "With a
bit of Providence."
The man stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment.
"And a lot of work," he said. "Friend, I got
to tell you the truth. I been walking these hills
all day. I'm a tie hacker
by trade. Know all about logging and turning trees
into wooden things. But I'll do anything.
"You see, I got my wife and young'uns
camped in the next hollow, over that ridge.
This'll be the third day we ain't had a proper
meal. Times is awful hard. And I cain't ask
my horses to go another step. I just ..." He
seemed to run out of words.
"Let me think a minute," Papa said,
twisting his mustache. "I reckon two men can
cut twice as much wood as one. Don't know if
we can sell that wood right off. But it's a small
risk.
"Tell you what. Come by at daybreak. You
help me cut a load to sell, and I guess
I can spare some grub tonight."
Papa reached into the wagon. He pulled out the
cloth sack holding the slab of salt pork.
"Manly!" Mama cried out. "We have Rose
to think of."
"We don't have much," Papa said to the man.
"As you can see, I have a wife and daughter myself.
But I could use an experienced man about the
place."
"I ... I'm sorry," Mama said, blushing
crimson. "I only meant ..."
The man nodded.
Papa pulled his knife from its leather sheath and
cut through the white meat. Then he slit the corner
of the cornmeal sack and poured some into one of
Mama's tin pails.
"Do you have a good ax?" Papa asked the man.
"Bring it if you do. We'll start at dawn and
put in a good day's work. If the wood sells,
I'll treat you right."
Papa handed the man the pork and the pail of
cornmeal. The man began to speak, but Papa
held up his hand. "Don't mention it," he said.
"See you at dawn."
In a wink, the shadows had swallowed the
visitor up.
Mama looked at Papa and shrugged
helplessly. "I don't know what came over
me," she said. "Pa would have done the same thing.
He would no sooner turn a hungry stranger from
his door than his own flesh and blood."
"You're right, Bess," said Papa. "We do
have Rose to think of. But we'll get by.
Maybe even better for having helped him."
Cleaning House

"Time to get up." Mama gently shook
Rose in the starry darkness before dawn. "We've
a long day ahead."
Rose gathered wood for their last camp
breakfast. Fido was circling the brush pile
again, nose to the ground.
"What is it, Fido?" Rose asked. He
looked at her, panting, and then at the brush
pile. Rose peered into the dark tangle of tree
limbs. It was too thick to see anything. She
poked a stick in there, but nothing moved.
One by one the stars faded as the first blush of
dawn appeared in the sky. Fresh breezes
stirred the leaves and set the branches swaying.
Waking birds chirped noisily. Two
squirrels chased each other across the roof of the
house.
Fido ran to the edge of the clearing and barked
once. Then he came back and sat by the wagon.
A moment later the stranger appeared, walking up
the hill.
"He's a smart dog," said Mama. "Already
he can tell between friends and strangers."
The man carried Mama's pail in his hand.
On his shoulder he balanced a long metal saw.
It had large wicked-looking teeth, and a wooden
handle at either end.
"Morning, ma'am," he called out. He handed
Mama the pail. She nearly dropped it, it was
so heavy. "The missus picked 'em yesterday,"
he said. "She found a patch near camp. They
ain't real ripe, but you got to get to 'em
early, before they get bird pecked and buggy."
Mama reached into the pail and plucked out a
small brown object. Rose picked one out
to look at, too. Its soft skin was furry to the
touch. It was shaped like a small potato, but the
skin made Rose think of a mouse or a mole.
"We saw these on the trees driving here," said
Mama.
"They're pawpaws," the man said. "They grow
wild, where it stays good and wet. Makes a fine
pudding, but they eat pretty good just plain."
"Thank you," Mama said. "I'm sure we will
enjoy these."
Then Papa took his ax and went with the man
to mark the trees they would cut that day.
Mama sent Rose to fetch a pail of water.
"The spring is over there," she said.
"In the gully next to the house."
Rose followed a worn path from the door of the
log house to the edge of the gully. The path
dropped down into the gully, steeper than stairs.
An enormous rock stood at one end, the
hollow sound of gurgling water coming from behind it. The
water ran from under that rock into a little pool, as round as a washtub and half as deep. Then it
spilled out of the pool into a little branch that wandered
downhill, between the trees.
Rose skidded down the steep path, holding on
to roots and branches. The earth was smooth and
cool under her feet. The sweet-smelling air was
cool, too, and damp. It poured over her warm
skin, waking her up all over.
She dipped her hand in the cold pool. Water
spiders dimpled the surface. Black bugs
on the bottom skittered away when she moved her
hand. Ferns leaned over from the hillside. A
hollowed-out gourd hung from a branch by a rope.
Rose pulled it down and dipped herself a
gourdful. The water tasted delicious. It even
made her feel refreshed inside.
The spring was a peaceful, quiet place. The
only sounds were the water murmuring to itself and birds
singing in the trees. Up the hillside, above her,
the woods loomed, dark and mysterious. The tips
of the highest trees caught the first yellow rays
of the sun.
Then something rustled in the leaves. Rose held
her breath, listening. The leaves rustled again,
louder. She looked for Fido, but he was nowhere
to be seen.
Rose quickly filled the water pail and
scrambled back up the path, as fast as she could.
She decided that next time, she would take
Fido.
At breakfast Papa said the stranger had showed
him how to pick the best trees for cook wood.
The man's name was Cyrus.
"He knows timber," Papa said. "He worked
in logging camps farther east, cutting railroad
ties. But then the Panic shut the camps down."
"He seems pleasant enough," Mama said.
"He brought back my tin pail, and some wild
fruit besides."
"I've been thinking, Bess. He could be a
big help to us, so long as we can sell enough wood
to support both families. If he'll just stay
to help build a barn to stable the
horses, we should be snug for winter."
"And a henhouse," Mama added.
"That, too," Papa said. "It sure is good
to have our own place again, to be building something up
for the future. And I like these woods, Bess. I
feel more at home here in one day than in all those
years on the prairie."
Finally, Mama and Papa finished talking and
Rose could ask, "What's a Panic?"
"Well, that's what happens when folks run
out of money," said Papa.
"Couldn't they make some more?" Rose asked.
Both Mama and Papa chuckled. "Some
politicians in Washington think so," said
Papa. "But no, Rose. You cannot make more
money like more flapjacks. It must be earned. And it
must be worth something. A piece of paper isn't
really money until there's gold in the U.s.
treasury to back it up."
Rose was going to ask another question, but Papa
stood up and said, "I won't earn anything
sitting here. I've got to get to work."
After breakfast Mama and Rose inspected the
house. The lean-to kitchen was small, but Mama
said it was better than camp cooking. Inside the
house, sunlight peeked through cracks in the
walls, casting ribbons of light on the
floorboards. They heard a shot from Papa's
gun.
"Maybe Papa shot us supper," said
Mama. She walked all the way around the room,
looking and thinking.
"We'll have to get Papa to chink those logs.
And put in a window. This is the darkest,
draftiest place I ever saw."
They set right to work. Mama carried out the old
ashes from the fireplace. Rose found a piece
of bark to use for a scoop, and she helped.
They knocked down all the spiderwebs with the
broom and a stick. Homeless spiders scurried
over the floor and walls. Rose's arms and
legs crawled with imaginary spiders. She kept
rubbing her skin to get rid of that feeling.
Then they swept everything out the door and out of the
lean-to's: dust, balls of spider thread,
mouse nests, and dead leaves. Next, Mama
went down to the creek and filled a pail with clean
sand. She sprinkled it on the wood floor,
along with some water. Together Mama and Rose got
down on their hands and knees and scrubbed
that floor with wet rags, as hard as they could.
It was the most tiring chore Rose had ever
done. Her arm ached. Her back hurt. Her
knuckles burned from scraping them on the
floorboards. Her knees were sore from grinding
into the grit. Sand got between her toes and under her
fingernails. It even got on her face.
But finally the sand had scrubbed all the dark,
dirty wood. They rinsed it with countless buckets
of fresh water. They doused the floor until every
last bit of sand and dirt had been swept into the
cracks to drain away in the soil beneath.
On every trip to the spring, they paused to drink
another gourdful of that delicious water. It
seemed their thirst would never be quenched. Rose's
stomach sloshed and gurgled when she moved.
They rested while the floor dried. The smell
of wet wood mixed with the sweet green scent of the
warming day. They sat on a log and watched
Papa and Cyrus cut a tall dead tree with
Cyrus' big two-handed saw. Papa pulled
one end and Cyrus pushed. Then Cyrus pulled
and Papa pushed.
They had cut almost all the way through when the
tree uttered a groan and began to lean. Then it
swooped to the ground with terrifying speed, crashing in
a cloud of flying leaves, trembling branches,
and dust.
"May I go look?" asked Rose.
"No," Mama said. "Felling trees is very
dangerous work, Rose. You must not play in the
woodlot. We'll look later, when they aren't
cutting.
"Now, how shall we arrange the furniture?"
she asked. She drew a square in the dirt.
"That is the house," she said. "And this is the
chimney." She drew a little square on one
side of the big square.
"Where shall we put the big bed?" Mama asked.
Rose looked at the square for a minute.
"By the fireplace? To stay warm in winter."
"That's a good idea," Mama said. She drew
a little rectangle next to the fireplace and
away from the door. Rose was looking at the
picture in the dirt when Mama suddenly burst
out, "Oh, my ... land!"
Mama jumped off the log. She grabbed her
skirt in both hands and shook it hard. She
looked around her frantically, as if something might
fall out.
"My land!" she shouted again. "Rose, come
away from that log!"
Rose was so astonished she couldn't move. She
looked where Mama had been sitting. At first her
eyes did not believe what they saw. Staring
back at her was the biggest spider she had ever
seen. It was as big as a person's hand! Its
huge body and long thick legs were covered in
black and reddish-brown fur, as sleek as
horsehair.
It reached out with its front legs and began
crawling right toward Rose!
Rose leaped up. Her breath came in
gasps. She picked up a stick and stood there,
ready to hit it but afraid to try. That spider was
so big it might chase her!
"I ... I've never seen anything so
gruesome," Mama said. They watched as the spider
waved and reached out with its giant legs. It was
terrifyingly beautiful.
Papa came running, rifle in his hand.
Cyrus carried the ax. "I heard you shout,
Bess! What is it? Did you find a snake?"
"Just look at it," Mama said, pointing.
They all looked. But the log was bare. The
spider had slipped away in an instant.
"It was a spider," Mama said. "As big as
... as this." She held up her hand and spread
her fingers. "Covered with hair!"
Papa twisted his mustache in silence. He
gently stirred the leaves with the rifle barrel.
"Be careful, Manly," Mama said. "It
might be angry."
Cyrus leaned on the ax and chuckled. Mama
glared at him.
"Sorry, ma'am," he said. "I didn't
mean no offense. It's just ... well, I
guess them critters'd give anybody a good
fright that never seen one."
"What is it?" asked Rose. She wanted
to look at the spider again, to see its fur. But
there was no sign of it anywhere.
"It's a tarantula," he said. "You'd never
have cause to shoot it. I never did hear of one
biting nobody, and they ain't poisonous even if
it did. You see 'em mostly round this time of
year. They're looking for dens for the winter, I
guess."
Papa mopped his forehead.
Mama took a deep breath. "You
don't suppose it was living in the house, do you?"
she said.
"Could be," said Cyrus. "Maybe you bothered
it. But don't you worry, ma'am. Boys take
tarantulas to school right in their pants
pockets, to scare the little girls with. They cain't
be too harmful at that."
"I have never had such a fright," said Mama,
laughing at herself. "I heard your gun, Manly.
Did you get a rabbit?"
"Rattlesnake," said Papa. "We killed
one this morning."
"Rattlesnakes, huge hairy spiders,"
said Mama. "What else will we find in these
woods?"

Moving In

Rose was jumpy all during dinner and after, when
she helped Mama unpack the wagon. She
looked before she sat down. She kicked at
piles of leaves. Little noises startled her.
Mama was thinking about the spider, too. She
scratched her ankles as if something were crawling
on them. She looked into boxes before she reached with
her hand.
"My imagination is playing tricks on me,"
she said.
Seeing Mama scratch made Rose itch
too.
First they unpacked Mama and Papa's bedstead
and bedspring. There was trail dust on the
undersides, which they brushed off. Then they took out
Rose's trundle bed, which fit perfectly
underneath. They put the beds in the corner, near the
fireplace, right where Rose had suggested. They
put the table on the other side of the fireplace,
near the door.
They cleaned out the little camp stove and put it in
the lean-to. Mama would never have to cook outdoors
again.
The trunks were too heavy to lift without
Papa's help, so they opened them in the wagon and
carried in the linen and clothing, a little at a time.
Mama put the hanging clothes on a rope tied
between two rafters.
Then Rose helped make up the beds. Mama
shook open the crisp sheets with a sharp snap!
The musty smell of the trunk was in those sheets.
For a moment Rose thought of De Smet.
First they made the big bed together. Then Rose
made up her trundle bed by herself. She tucked
the corners of the sheets in snugly, the way
Mama made the big bed. Then she laid her
quilt on top and smoothed it out. Rose was
delighted to see it tidy, all ready to crawl
into. They really were going to sleep inside that
night!
They each carried in a stack of the willowware
china. Rose was happy to see those plates again.
She was tired of the flimsy tin plates they used
for camping. She had missed the beautiful scene that
always waited under her food. It was a picture,
painted in the most beautiful blue, of a faraway
land where feathery trees grew next to fanciful
houses. Some people hurried over a bridge to play
with their friends. A garden path led to--
"Rose!" Mama called. Rose stopped
short and looked up. She was just two steps away
from a tree. A moment more and she would have smacked
right into it!
"What are you staring at so hard?" asked
Mama.
"I was looking at the picture on the
plate."
"Let's not tempt fate, Rose," said
Mama. "It's already a miracle nothing broke
at the Missouri River."
Mama carried in the glass bread platter.
She and Papa had given it to each other their first
Christmas. She propped it carefully on the
fireplace mantel, where they could look at it.
The dim light from the doorway glinted along the
edges. Raised letters said "GIVE US THIS
DAY" across the top and "OUR DAILY
BREAD" across the bottom. Hundreds of
loaves of Mama's delicious bread had been
served on that platter. Just looking at it made
Rose hungry.
In the bottom of one trunk, Mama found the
rag rug Aunt Carrie had braided for a
going-away present. She spread it in front
of the fireplace. It gave the little house a
cheerful look.
Next she brought in the wooden clock with the
carved wooden leaf on the top. A glass door
with gilded vines and leaves on it protected the
face. Gilded birds perched in the vines.
Mama set the clock on the mantel, beside the
bread plate. She wound it with the key and
set the time by the nickel-plated alarm clock.
Then she gave the pendulum a little push, to start it
swinging.
"Now, let's put out the green gingham
tablecloth, and we're finished," Mama said. After
the cloth was all smoothed out, she stood back in
the doorway with her hands on her hips and looked
at the room.
Just then the clock chimed five times. Every
corner of the house filled with the clear, round tones.
When the last echo faded away, the little house was
brimming with life.
"Time to think about supper," Mama said.
"Papa has been cutting wood all day.
He'll be hungry. Run and ask him how much
longer he'll be."
Rose found Papa and Cyrus still cutting,
next to a big pile of chopped and split logs.
"Hello, Rose," Papa said. "How goes
the moving in?"
"It's done," Rose said happily. "It's
a real house now. Mama wants to know when
to make supper."
"You tell her we'll quit when the light's
gone."
So they kept cutting, even after the sun went
down. When it was dark, Cyrus went back over
the ridge to his wagon. Mama held the
lantern while Papa took the canopy and side
curtains off the wagon.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" Papa
said wearily. "It's hard to believe we
traveled all that way in it."
Papa drove the wagon to the pile of wood.
He set the lamp on the wagon seat, and Mama
and Rose helped him stack the stove wood in the
wagon-box. Rose brought wood to Mama, who
handed the split logs up to Papa, two at a
time. He stacked the logs in rows and in layers,
higher and higher, until the hack could hold no more
without its falling out.
"I'm all done in," Papa said. They were
all exhausted. And hungry. One at a time they
washed their hands and faces in the basin that Mama
had set on a chair just outside the door. Then
they dried themselves on the towel that was hung over the
chair back.
Papa walked into the lean-to kitchen and started
to open the inside door into the house, but Mama
stopped him. "Shoes off, if you
please. No need to spoil our hard work on the
floor."
Papa pulled off his shoes and sighed with
relief, "Ahhh," he said, rubbing his ankles.
"Wait, just one minute," Mama said, and
disappeared behind the door into the house. Rose heard
the clink of the lamp chimney being lifted, and the sound
of a match striking. She quickly wiped her bare
feet on the edge of the sill. Then she scurried
through the door into the house. She wanted to see
Papa's face when he came in. Mama had
said Fido must stay outside.
"You may come in now," Mama called
to Papa.
Papa opened the door slowly. His tired
eyes shone happily in the dim light. "Well,
I'll be ..." he said. He slowly looked
around the room. Then Rose looked too. So
did Mama. Even though they had worked on it all
day, this was the first time they had really seen it as their
new home.
The lamp flame purred quietly on the
table, throwing its soft yellow circle of light
on the settings. Mama had turned the wick up
so Papa could see better.
The bread platter sat in the middle of the table
with three big pieces of crusty corn bread on
it. The air was rich with the creamy smell of beans
bubbling on the stove.
The little sewing chest that Papa had made for
Mama out of old cigar boxes stood near the
bed. Its polished wood gleamed in the
lamplight. The autograph quilt that the
family and friends in De Smet had sewed for them
lay neatly on the big bed. Papa's good hat
hung from a peg by the front door. He went
over and picked it up.
"A fellow knows he's home when he has his
own place to hang his hat," said Papa. Mama
looked at him with soft eyes. Her face glowed
with pride. The clock filled the silence with its
peaceful ticking.
"I don't know how you girls did it,"
Papa finally said. "But anybody would swear
we've lived here our whole lives." He gave
Mama a great hug and a long kiss that made her
gasp when he finally let go.
Then Papa picked Rose up by the waist and
held her high over his head. "You are a mite
big for this, Rose. I remember when you
were so little, you had to stand twice in a place to make
a shadow."
He gave her a big, bristly kiss and
hugged her hard.
"And now," he said. "I'm sure we could all
do with some supper. I'm as hungry as a spring
bear."

Sleepless Night

All through supper they chattered like a flock of
sparrows.
Papa told Mama and Rose about the things
Cyrus had said about Missouri. "The woods are
full of small game," Papa said. "There's
cash money to be made trapping. He showed me
raccoon tracks, and he says there are usually
plenty of rabbits and squirrels. There are deer
and wild turkeys, too. Who would have guessed
settled country could be so bountiful?"
"Are there wolves?" Rose asked. She
wanted to see a wolf up close, the way
Mama had as a little girl.
"Yes. Cyrus says there are a few
wolves," Papa said. "And even panthers."
Panthers scared Rose. She did not ever
want to meet one.
"What's a raccoon, Papa?"
"It's a small animal that has gray fur
and black patches around its eyes. It sleeps
in the daytime and hunts its food at night.
"I'm sorry to be scratching at the table,
Bess," Papa said suddenly. "Something is
biting the dickens out of me, top and bottom!"
Without thinking about it, Mama and Rose
scratched at their legs. Then, all at once,
they looked at each other and realized they were all
scratching.
"Some pest is biting us," Mama said, hitching
up her dress. There were three red welts on her
ankles. She rubbed them and winced.
"Whatever it is, they itch like nothing I've ever
met with," Papa said. "Even the mosquitoes in
Big Slough weren't this bad."
Rose looked at her legs. She hadn't
noticed, but now she saw that she had red
blotches, too.
They all scratched. But it didn't help.
Instead, the bites burned and throbbed and itched
even more.
Papa yawned a great yawn. "Excuse my
manners. I'm all done in, itches or not.
And there's a big day ahead tomorrow."
They all went to bed. It was cozy to climb under
the covers in their new house. Rose was tired, but
she lay awake for a long time, thinking about
raccoons and panthers and big furry spiders.
She listened to the insects singing in the trees and
scratched her legs. But the itch just went deeper,
where she couldn't reach it. She twisted and turned and
sighed. She rubbed her burning ankles on the
cool sheets. But in a second they were hot and
itchy again.
She heard Mama and Papa twisting and turning
and scratching and sighing, too.
Then, after what seemed like the longest time of
twisting and turning, Rose heard a scrabbling
sound nearby. She lay perfectly still, listening.
A tingle of fear raced up her back. Her
legs begged to be scratched, but she forced herself
to lie still and listen.
She heard a scampering sound. Then more
scrabbling right near her bed. Rose turned her
head, but it was too dark to see anything. She could
barely breathe. Her eyes ached from straining to see
into the darkness.
From his sleeping place outside the front
door, Fido barked. A second later,
Rose felt something like fingers scampering across her
legs.
She kicked her legs as hard as she could.
"MAMA! PAPA!" she shrieked.
"Something's in here!"
Now there were tiny scampering sounds everywhere in the
house. Mama got up quickly to light the lamp.
When the match burst into flame, Rose saw two
tiny dots of light in the corner. They winked and
vanished.
"Manly!" Mama said, rubbing the back of her
left leg with her right foot. "There are rats in
here! They've chewed the corner off the sack of
cornmeal."
Fido whined outside the door.
Rose tiptoed across the floor and sat on the
big bed. She did not want her feet touching the
floor where the rats had been.
Now they were all up, itchy and sleepy,
wondering what to do. Rose didn't feel very
cozy in the house now.
"Rose can't sleep on the floor with
rats running across her," said Mama. "She should
sleep with us in the big bed."
"Yes, I suppose," Papa said in a
croaky voice. He was too tired to be
upset. He sat at the table, his head resting on
his hand. His eyes were closed.
Fido barked sharply at the door. Then he
scratched at it. Mama took the lamp and went
to see.
"He's caught a rat!" Mama said when she
came back. "He brought it to the door, the little
show-off. You don't suppose ... Manly?
Are you awake?"
"I'm listening, Bess," Papa said with
closed eyes.
"Perhaps we could let Fido in for a spell."
"Could we?" Rose cried.
"Just until the rats are gone," Mama said.
"We could let him stay indoors for tonight. To see
how he does."
Papa opened an eye. "Sounds better than
doing nothing," he said. "Let's see what
Fido's made of."
Rose ran into the lean-to and opened the front
door. Fido sat there, panting excitedly.
"Come in, Fido," Rose said. He pranced
in, leaving his catch behind. For all the noise those
rats had made, Rose didn't think they were very
big to look at. But they were ugly just the same.
Fido gave Rose's foot a grateful
lick and ran over to lick Papa's hand. Then,
as they all watched him, he ran about, sniffing
along the walls.
He stopped at one of the corners. He twisted
his head this way and that. Finally he sat down and
stared at one place in the floorboards. Rose
saw a hole that she had not noticed before.
Mama put out the lamp and they all went back
to bed; Rose lay between Mama and Papa. But they
hardly slept. They could hear Fido's nails
clicking about the room. He whined some, and he
growled some. Then they heard growling and scurrying
and squeaking sounds that they knew must be Fido
catching a rat.
Finally, it was quiet. Rose had just begun
to fall asleep when she felt a soft hand on her
forehead. "Time to get up, Rose," said
Mama's tired voice.
Mama lit the lamp low, and Papa and Rose
got out of bed. Fido was sleeping by the
door. Here and there were little bits of dark fur.
Fido raised his head and blinked sleepily.
"Well, there's one thing certain, and two things
sure," Papa said. "That little fella can earn his
keep."

The Orchard

Mama baked extra corn bread for breakfast
and fried up an extra bit of salt pork.
She packed them in a tin pail for Papa's
dinner. Then she and Rose watched him drive the
loaded wagon down the hill to town. Little Pet
whinnied to her mother from the shady spot where Papa had
tied the colts so they wouldn't follow.
"Good luck!" Mama called after the rumbling
wagon.
"Don't wait supper!" Papa called
back, waving his hat. "I won't be home
until the whole load is sold!"
When the wagon's rumble died away, they knew
Papa had driven over the far hill,
into Mansfield. The thuds of Cyrus' ax
rang in the wood lot. Rose said a little prayer
to herself, that Papa would sell the whole
wagonload.
They washed the dishes, made the beds, and
swept out the house. Then Mama said, "Let's
go soak our legs in the spring. Perhaps it will take
some of the itch out of these bites."
They sat on rocks at the edge of the pool.
Warm sunshine speckled the ground and played in
wavy lines on the pool's bottom. Rose's
skin felt parched and thirsty for that cold, clear
water. Her legs tingled as she slowly lowered them
in. Her skin broke out in deliciously shivery
goose bumps.
Mama took off her shoes and sighed as she
dipped her toes in the water. "This is much
better."
"Where are the apple trees, Mama?" Rose
asked.
"Just over the hill. We'll walk there
later."
After their legs were refreshed, they climbed the
steep hill above the spring. It was rocky and
thick with trees. A bird like a prairie hen
ran off through the dead leaves. Mama said it was
probably a kind of quail.
"I'm sorry I left my shoes
by the pool," Mama said, stepping carefully over
a rocky spot. "These sharp stones hurt my
feet."
Rose's feet were tough from going barefoot all
summer. She didn't even notice those rocks,
except where they were warm from the sun.
At the top of the hill they were nearly high enough
to see across the wooded valley into Mansfield.
They could just see the bell tower on the school,
poking up above the trees. Great turkey
vultures soared in wide graceful circles
high above the valley.
Rose and Mama walked down the other side
of the hill, into a big clearing. Rows of little
trees lay on their sides. There were hundreds of
them, more than Rose could count. Their roots had
been tucked into slashes in the soil, like feet under
a blanket.
Those were the apple trees, Mama said, waiting
to be planted in the orchard. The trees were short
and spindly. Not one of them was even as big as a
single branch of the trees they had seen along the
way.
They walked a little farther, to a field where some
apple trees had been properly planted. They
were very far apart, sticking up from small dirt
mounds. In between, jagged stumps poked out of the
ground. Brush piles lay around the field's
edge. Their orchard didn't look anything like the
beautiful, tidy orchards they had passed.
"The trees are so small," said Rose. "Will
they ever get big enough to make apples?"
"Before you know it, the branches of those little trees
will grow until one day they can touch one another,"
said Mama. "And then folks in Kansas City
and Memphis will be baking our apples into pies."
Looking at those tiny, fragile trees,
Rose could not believe it. She remembered she
would be thirteen years old before the trees bore
fruit. That time seemed even further off, now.
Mama and Rose walked around the rest of the
farm. It was all woods. Papa would have to cut
many trees that winter to get the apple saplings
all planted by spring.
The ground was rocky almost everywhere. In some
places huge boulders stuck out of the ground. But
Mama said Papa would clear the land and someday they
would have smooth, rolling meadows and pastureland.
"For now, it is a very rocky ridge of land,"
said Mama. She looked at Rose,
her face suddenly bright. "There's a thought. We
can call the place Rocky Ridge Farm.
What do you think?"
Rose liked the sound of it. It was easy
to say, and it was true.
"I like it," she said.
"That's it, then," Mama said with satisfaction.
"We'll tell Papa tonight. Someday, Rose,
folks will come to visit us, and they'll see acres
of beautiful orchard trees, cows in the pasture,
sheep in the meadow, and corn in the field.
They'll ask, Why is it called Rocky
Ridge Farm? And we can tell them. That way
we will never forget how it was when we first saw it."

A New Friend

After dinner, Mama said Rose could explore
on her own, but she must take Fido with her.
They went to the spring, where Rose drank a
cool gourdful of water while Fido lapped a
drink for himself. Then she decided to follow the
spring branch, to see where it went. The water
trickled downhill through a tunnel of shade.
Briars snatched at her dress. Low limbs of
trees stretched across her way.
She heard a rustling sound. Fido had
disappeared in the bushes, so Rose picked up a
long stick. She beat the leaves and bushes in
front of her as she walked, to scare away any
snakes or tarantula spiders that might be
lurking about.
At the bottom of the hill, the trickling water
ran into the creek. Rose turned left and
walked along the bank. She could barely hear the
ringing of Cyrus' ax.
Right next to the creek, she found a tree with
small round fruits the size of plums hanging
from its branches. The air there smelled ripe and
summery. The hanging fruits were orange and
yellow. But some that had smashed on the ground were
dark brown. A perfume like spilled molasses
rose from them. Honeybees buzzed around the oozy
lumps.
Rose had never seen that fruit before. She
knew she shouldn't try to eat one without asking
Mama, or offering it to the horses. But if bees
like it, she thought, I will too. She touched her finger
to one of the fallen fruits, where the skin had
cracked. She tasted it. It was sweet,
although not as sweet as a plum.
She hit the trunk with the palm of her hand. Some
of the fruit fell with a pattering noise on the
flinty rocks, then rolled off into the leaves.
Rose picked one up. It was a beautiful warm
yellow-orange, with a little blush of purple. The
smooth skin felt cool in her hand. She just
knew it would taste sweet and juicy, so she
took a bite.
At first the taste was nothing--not sweet, but not
tart, either. It was just a bit crunchy. Then she
felt a strange roughness in her mouth. The inside
of her mouth began to shrivel. It turned dry,
first cottony dry, and then as dry as dust. The
insides of her lips stuck to her teeth. Her
tongue stuck to her palate and a puckery feeling
filled her whole mouth. It was the worst thing
Rose had ever tasted, and it scared her. That
fruit was poisoning her.
"Ungh! Ungh!" she coughed. Tears welled
up in her eyes.
Suddenly Rose heard laughter. She looked
up. Standing in front of her was a freckle-faced
girl about her size. She was wearing a
bright-yellow calico dress. Her fiery red
hair was pulled into pigtails. Her eyes were the
clearest, brightest blue Rose had ever seen.
She looked at Rose haughtily.
"Your face looks like my pa's tobacco
pouch," the girl said mockingly. "Serves you right,
I guess. Those are my pa's persimmons."
Rose tried to spit out the horrible-tasting
fruit. But her mouth was too dry and puckery.
So she pulled it out with her finger. After a few
moments her mouth began to feel right again.
Now Rose's face blazed hot. She was
embarrassed and angry.
But she tried to remember her manners. "I'm
sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know it was
your tree."
"Where're you from?" the little girl asked, hands on
her hips. But she didn't wait for Rose
to answer. "You ain't from around here, or you'd of
knowed better'n to eat a green persimmon. Are
you from that wagon in the hollow over yonder? My
pa don't like drifters. He won't like it one
bit if I tell him covered wagon folks was
stealing his persimmons."
Rose was stunned. She didn't like what the little
girl was saying. But she shouldn't have been
taking someone else's ... what did she call
them?
Rose knew one thing for sure: "We aren't
drifters, either. We live here. That's our farm.
Right back there."
"Well, then," the girl said. "That's a
different story, ain't it? Why didn't you say
so? We're neighbors. My pa says you got
to be neighborly to neighbors. So you go right on.
Them persimmons mostly rot by the time we pick
them. And the possums always steal a mess. We
got more persimmon trees down the creek
anyway. Where'd you say your farm's at?"
"Up there," Rose said. She pointed up the
hill, back toward the spot where the spring branch
met the creek.
"That must be Mr. White's place, with all
them little apple trees he bought," the girl said.
"We just moved into our house," said Rose.
"With my dog, Fido." Rose looked around, but
Fido was nowhere to be seen.
"Well, this is my pa's place, on this
side of Fry Creek," the little girl said
proudly. "I've lived here my whole life,
eight years. I'm the baby. How old are you?"
"I'll be eight in December," said Rose.
"But I'm the only one."
"I got two big sisters," the girl said.
"Cora and Mary Sue don't like farm work much.
They help my ma with the cookin' and house chores.
They sew a bunch, too. I hate sewing."
"Yes, sewing is hard," said Rose, although
she didn't hate sewing at all. She liked
to see what she could make, and Mama often told
stories when they sewed together. But Rose didn't
want to disagree with the girl.
"What I like is helpin' my pa in the barn and
out in the fields. I ain't never going to school and
sit with no stuck-up town girls. Besides," she
said, "my pa says I'm the best son a man
could ever hope for. What's your name?"
"Rose. Rose Wilder. I came with my
mama and papa from South Dakota."
"South Dakota? What's it like there?" the little
girl asked.
"It's prairie," Rose explained. "It's
all grass. And windy. But there's a drought now.
All the crops are dying. And there aren't any
trees."
"No trees!" the little girl shouted.
"Where do the birds put their nests? What about
squirrels? You mean you got no squirrels
there?"
"No," Rose said.
"How 'bout 'coons, or 'possum?"
"No," Rose said. "But there are
jackrabbits, and gophers."
The little girl just shook her head. "Gophers,"
she said. "Like a groundhog? That ain't no
animals."
Then she told Rose about persimmons. "These
ain't ripe yet," she said, showing Rose a
persimmon like the one she had bitten into. It was
firm, and the color was lighter than the others.
"They're puckery. You cain't eat 'em till
they get soft. These kind here have tandy acid in
'em. That's what my pa calls it, I think.
Here's a real good ripe one. See? It's dark
and kind of mushy. My ma cooks them in pudding.
Smack down on it."
Rose took a small bite. This time her
mouth filled with the dark flavor of sweet juice.
It was unlike anything she had tasted. She ate
all of it, spitting out the slimy brown seeds.
"There ain't too many ripe ones yet," the
girl said. "'Round frost time they all start
turning sweet. But you got to beat the 'possums
to 'em.
"Well, I got to go. Looks like rain, and
I got to help Pa with the milking. If you want
to have some fun, you ought to come with me of a day and see
my trap line. Come winter, I get rabbits and
'coons and 'possums and skunks."
Rose did not know what a trap line was, but
she thought she would like to see one. "Yes. That would be
fun," she said.
"Well, see you," the girl called.
"Good-bye," Rose said. Then she remembered
something. "Wait! What's your name?"
"Alva. Alva Stubbins. See you,
Rose."

Waiting for Papa

Rose gathered a few ripe persimmons in
her skirt and raced home. Fido met her
along the way. The last bit of sunshine vanished
behind the clouds as a gust of wind stirred the
leaves. Lightning flickered in the sky. The coming
storm growled in its throat. Rose
ran faster. She must hurry if she expected
to beat it.
Then the wind stopped. Not a leaf moved. The
forest became very still. Rose's and Fido's running
feet seemed to rustle loudly in the leaves, and the
water in the creek went on foolishly chuckling.
Finally Rose burst into the clearing, still clutching
the persimmons in her skirt. Mama was pulling
the chicken coop inside the lean-to. The chickens
squawked complaints, and stray feathers floated in
the air.
"Thank goodness," Mama said. "There you are."
Just then a tongue of lightning licked overhead.
Rose and Mama flinched. They stepped back
inside the door with Fido as thunder crashed on the
hill and rolled away in the valley. Rose
trembled with excitement.
"I'm sorry, Mama," she finally managed.
"I only went a little ways ... for a walk. I
wanted to see where the spring goes."
"You look as if you might have been wrestling with a
bear," Mama said. "Your braids are undone and
your foot's bleeding. What's in your skirt?"
Before Rose could tell Mama her story, the
forest uttered a long, shuddering sigh from all its
slopes. Then the rain came, a gray curtain
rushing through the trees. The roof erupted into a
roaring drum. The leaves trembled, and the ground
teemed with dancing drops. A gust of cool, refreshing air blew in the doorway.
"Rain!" Mama shouted above the noise. "Such
a lively sound."
She shut the door against the wet gusts. They
could hardly hear each other speak. Bright flashes
of lightning flickered between the unchinked logs. Then
the logs trembled with thunder.
"Mama, look! The roof is leaking."
They rushed around placing pots under each of the
leaks. Mama pulled the bed away from the wall so
it wouldn't get wet. But even with the leaks, the
room was cozy in the lamplight.
Rose put the four persimmons on the table.
She told Mama about her walk along Fry
Creek, and about the little girl, Alva. Then
Mama nibbled one of the little fruits.
"These are delicious." She cut one open with a
knife. The meat was soft, and divided
into sections. In the middle were large brown seeds,
bigger than watermelon seeds. "I'm sure I
can make something with these. But they are rather
pulpy for pie."
"Alva's ma makes pudding," Rose
remembered.
"When they're ripe, we must get some and
try," said Mama. She went to the lean-to door
to see if the storm had passed. Then she got out
the scrap bag that had been packed away all
summer in the wagon.
"Come sit with me on the bed," Mama said.
"We can start piecing a new quilt while we
wait for Papa."
Mama began by spreading out the bits of cloth
on the bed. Then she laid the pattern on them at
various angles to see how best to cut the scraps
without waste. With her sharp shears, she cut out the
squares and triangles she would stitch together
to make the quilt.
She held up a scrap for Rose to see.
"That's the turkey-red dress your aunt Grace
wore the time she recited "Curfew Shall Not
Ring Tonight,"" Mama said. "How lovely she
looked.
"And this is the last bit of that dress Grandma
hated so. She wore it every summer to please
Grandpa, because he'd bought the goods to surprise
her. But she never could bear plaids.
"And here! This is the dress I wore to the
Fourth of July, that time the horses ran away.
You were too little to remember that." Mama sighed.
"A quilt is something human, Rose. There
isn't one of my dresses I wouldn't mind
having a scrap of right now."
Rose fingered her blue calico. It was her
oldest, most faded dress. It was tight in the
arms, and it had a big patch on the seat. But
someday a piece of it would remind her of the journey
to Missouri.
"Tell me a story, Mama. Please?"
"All right," said Mama. "Let me think."
A locomotive whistled in the distance.
"Did I tell you Grandpa's story about the
time Mr. Edwards ran a foot race against a
train?"
"No!" Rose shouted excitedly. "Tell
me."
Rose and Mama sewed quilt pieces together
while Mama told it:
"One day Grandpa was coming home from buying
lumber in Tracy. The train he was on was
loaded with a shipment of coal, and the wind was
blowing so fiercely from the west that it slowed the
engine.
"Mr. Edwards was on the train, too. He was
a friend of Grandpa's. Mr. Edwards was a good
man, but he was a gambler, and always restless. "I
could go faster on my own two feet," Mr.
Edwards said to Grandpa in a good loud voice.
"Grandpa knew Mr. Edwards pretty
well. He looked at him with a twinkle in his
eye and said, good and loud, "For how long?"'
""Long enough to outrun that little whiffet of an
engine," Mr. Edwards bragged.
"Mr. Edwards was slender, and not very
hearty-looking. Some of the other passengers got
to thinking. They bet Mr. Edwards he couldn't do
it.
"Mr. Edwards said right away he'd show them.
Grandpa never gambled, of course," Mama said
solemnly. "But he held the money while Mr.
Edwards tried. People always trusted Grandpa.
"So Mr. Edwards jumped out of the passenger
car and started to run. He had good strong legs,
and the wind could hardly catch him, he was so thin.
Slowly he gained, passing one freight car and
then another and another. Finally, he was running beside
the puffing engine.
""Hey, mister!" Mr. Edwards called
to the engineer. "Want the boys to get out and
push?"' You never saw such a surprised look as
that engineer had on his face. Everyone had a great
laugh, and Mr. Edwards waited for the passenger
car to catch up, so he could jump on and collect
his bet."
Rose laughed through a big yawn. Mama's
soothing voice and the steady drumming of the rain on the
roof relaxed her. She laid down her sewing and
stretched out on her stomach on the bed. She
closed her eyes and just listened to the rain.
It seemed like only a minute later that a gust
of cool air blew on her face. But Rose
realized she had been fast asleep. Mama was
standing in the open doorway looking out. Papa must
be home!
Rose walked sleepily to the door and looked
out. But there was no wagon in the clearing. The storm
was ending. The last drops of rain felt cool on
her face. A roaring sound came from the gully,
and the sound of it grew in her ear.
"What is it?" asked Rose.
"It's rain water, rushing down to the
creek from the spring," Mama said. She was quiet
a moment. Then she asked, "Do you hear a
wagon?"
Rose listened. But the roaring of the branch
covered up all the other sounds. "No, I can't
hear anything," she said.
The hills were dark. The clouds parted in the
west, showing the last pale light of sunset. Then
the hole in the clouds slowly closed and there was
only darkness. Mama and Rose went back into the
house. Mama was quiet as she stirred corn
batter.
After Rose set the table, she lay on the bed,
looking through her lesson book. Mama said it was
time. Rose started her studies.
"You'll be going to school next year, after
we're settled," Mama said. "For now I need
you to help me here. But that's no excuse for not
keeping up."
Rose was glad to see her McGuffey's
reader again. It wasn't as exciting as
Robinson Crusoe, but Rose liked reading
everything. In De Smet she had even read the
Chicago InterOcean, a newspaper that
Papa sometimes brought home. She didn't understand
all the words, but it didn't matter.
Rose knew that words were a kind of magic that
anybody could make. Words told stories, which
Rose loved better than anything. She thought about
making up her own words, even her own secret
language. She could teach words of it to Fido so
that when she spoke them, only he would know what she
meant.
"Why don't you read me something while I'm
cooking?" Mama said. Rose flipped the pages
until she found a poem, "Alice's
Supper."

"Far down in the valley the wheat grows deep,
And the reapers are making the cradles sweep;
And this is the song that I hear them sing,
While cheery and loud their voices ring:
"'Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow!
And it is for Alice's supper--ho! ho!"

"Mama!" Rose shouted.
"Yes--I heard it, too, Rose."
They could plainly hear a rattling wagon coming
closer. And it was coming up the hill. Mama
hurriedly lit the lantern. "Take this
and go help your father while I get supper on the
table. He'll be hungry."
Rose ran outside. The horses' faces
bobbed into the lantern light. Their bellies were
wet and their legs were covered with mud. Papa
reined in the horses and jumped down. Rose ran
to hug him. He smelled of wet clothes.
Then she stood on the wheel to look into the
wagon-box. There were only bits of bark and wet
leaves stuck to the bottom.
"You sold it all!" Rose shouted.
"I told you I wouldn't come home until I
did," Papa said, smiling proudly.
Mama came out the door, wiping her hands on
her apron.
"I'll tell you all about it, Bess," said
Papa. "Soon as I get the team unhitched.
But you can stop your worrying. Everything's going to work
out fine for us here."
"There's a fresh change of clothes waiting,"
Mama said. "And a good hot meal."
Mama fidgeted around the house until Papa
finally got washed and changed and came to supper.
As soon as grace was over, Mama said,
"Well, Manly. What did you get for it?"
"Seventy-five cents," said Papa. "It
won't put us in clover. I had to make a good
price to get rid of the last of it. But we can
sell what we cut this winter, enough to get by."
"Thank heavens," Mama said. "Now if
Cyrus will only stay to help cut it."

The Henhouse

Papa sat in a chair, sharpening the ax with a
metal file. The cold, rasping sound of it
made Rose shiver. Mama mixed pancake
batter for breakfast in a bowl on the table.
"I asked somebody in town about those bites,"
said Papa. "It's a kind of bug called
chiggers."
Rose giggled. "Chiggers?" The word tickled
her. She was dressing her rag doll with tiny
calico scraps Papa had brought her from
Reynolds.
"They're too small to see," said Papa.
"They live in the grass and bushes."
"Are they harmful?" Mama asked. "Can we
get rid of them?"
"Don't think so," said Papa.
"Some folks tie rags soaked in coal oil
around their ankles when they do field work. And some
farmers burn off the fields and brushy places,
to get rid of them."
"Sounds like a waste of coal oil, if you ask
me," Mama said. "And who would start a fire on
purpose? What if the wind should come up?"
"Chiggers seem to be just a fact of life in
these hills," Papa said. "And ticks. They
talk about them both in one breath. But their season
is about finished. We won't see them again till
spring."
"What about the Cooleys?" Mama said. "How
did you find them?"
"They have their hands full," said Papa.
"Mrs. Cooley especially, in the kitchen.
George helps her with the chores. Paul is
already working behind the front desk, doing as good a
job as any grown man. They're working hard, but
they sure landed on their feet in this town. The
whole family's working, right from the get-go."

The days on Rocky Ridge Farm began to have
a rhythm, like notes in a melody. Papa and
Cyrus cut wood from lamplight to lamplight.
Some days, Papa drove a wagonload to town.
Soon he had steady customers. Then he
didn't have to drive around all day selling the
wood. On other days, he did chores around the
farm. He and Cyrus fixed the leaky roof,
plugged the rat hole, and put a snug new
door on the lean-to.
Each morning, Rose helped Mama water and
feed the chickens their cornmeal. The hens ran
free during the day. Fido kept them safe from
hawks and woods creatures. He even helped
Mama and Rose find the nests, and he didn't
eat a single egg.
Each afternoon they collected all the eggs they could
find. Then Rose went to the woodlot to get
clean sawdust. Papa helped her scoop it up
into her skirt, which she held out like a sack. In the
lean-to, Rose held an empty feed sack
open while Mama sprinkled the sawdust into it. Mama laid in some eggs and sprinkled more sawdust
on top. She kept making layers of sawdust and
eggs until she was out of eggs. Then she threw the
leftover sawdust on the earth floor, to keep the
mud down.
When Papa went to town, he took the
sack to Reynolds and traded the eggs for credit.
He used that credit to buy the things they needed, such
as flour, salt pork, ax handles, and harness
leather. Sometimes Papa brought home a treat for
Rose: a new hair ribbon or a piece of
stick candy.
At sundown each day, the chickens flew into the
branches of a big tree to sleep. Fido could not
protect them there. One night Rose woke up
to horrible screeching. Fido barked furiously.
"What is it?" Rose screamed.
Mama hurriedly lit the lantern and bolted
for the door.
"Wait, Bess," Papa shouted, untangling
his pant legs. "You don't know what's out there."
He snatched his rifle off the wall and
hurried to catch up with Mama. The horrible
screeching stopped. Rose sat in bed, wondering
what could have made such an awful sound.
"An owl carried off one of the chickens,"
Mama said when they came back to bed. "It
looks like the one with the twisted foot. She was my
best layer, too. This won't do, Manly. I
need a henhouse."
In the morning, Rose found white chicken
feathers scattered on the ground near the tree.
That day, Cyrus helped Papa build
Mama's henhouse. They built it near the
gully, to be close to water, and near the log
house, so they could hear the chickens squawk if a
raccoon or a snake came near.
The henhouse was square, with a slanted roof to shed
rain. The walls were small tree trunks laid
on top of each other and notched at the ends to fit
snugly. Then Papa and Cyrus sealed the
cracks with clay mud from the creek. That left
no spaces for snakes to sneak through, or cold
air to blow in.
It had a big door on leather hinges for
Mama and Rose to bring feed and water through, and so
they could clean the henhouse. Then Papa built a
little door in the side. A piece of flat wood
fitted into a slot to close it. Mama showed
Rose how to lift the door up to let the chickens
out in the morning.
"That door must always be closed at night, after
the chickens are in," Mama said. "Don't
forget that, Rose. Otherwise, a raccoon or
fox could walk right in and kill every last bird."
The last thing Papa made was a
roosting ladder inside, and two wooden shelves
for the chickens to nest on.
"We need lots of leaves to put on the
floor," Mama said. "Chickens like to have dry
feet." Rose made many trips with her skirt
full of leaves until the floor was covered.
Then the henhouse was ready.
But when it came time to roost, not one chicken
headed for the door. They began to stretch their
necks, eyeing their old roosting tree.
"Let's try herding them," said Mama. "But
gently. If we scare them, they won't lay.
You stand on one side, and I'll stand on the other.
We'll walk toward the henhouse and see if they
will go in."
They gently shooed the chickens toward the door.
But when they got close to the henhouse, the chickens
darted past Rose and Mama into the clearing. Two
chickens walked near the little doorway. They
cocked their heads and looked at it
suspiciously. Then they scooted away.
Mama made a little trail of cornmeal on the
ground, leading to the doorway. She scattered a
handful inside. The chickens greedily pecked up
all the cornmeal on the ground. When they got to the
doorway, they cocked their heads, looked at it
for a moment, and scooted away.
"You'd think there was a chopping block in there,"
Mama said, laughing.
Then she had another idea. She picked up
two long straight branches, and found two long
straight branches for Rose. Then they held the
sticks out at their sides, dragging on the ground,
to make it harder for the chickens to sneak by them.
Mama and Rose patiently herded the chickens
into a little crowd using those sticks. The nervous
chickens walked around each other in circles,
cackling, squawking, and flapping their wings. They
milled noisily in front of the henhouse's little
door.
But still they refused to go in.
"Well, that does it," Mama said, throwing
away the sticks. "If we get them too riled
up, they won't lay for weeks. Maybe they
need a day or so to get accustomed to it."
In a few minutes, all the chickens had
flown up into the roosting tree.
The next day, Mama left the henhouse
doors open. She spread more cornmeal on the
floor of the henhouse and set the water
bowl nearby. The hens went into the henhouse and ate
all the cornmeal. They drank the water. But
near roosting time, they marched out of the henhouse and
flew up into the tree.
Every night Mama and Rose tried to herd the
chickens using the sticks. A few chickens went
into the henhouse through the big door. So Mama
locked them in for the night.
The next night, a few more chickens went in,
and the rest flew up into the tree.
Finally, one evening, all the chickens let
Mama and Rose herd them into the henhouse.
For a long time after that, the hens did a funny
thing: When anyone picked up a long stick, or
carried the broom, they scurried to the henhouse.

Mama's Window

The green of the oak leaves began to fade. The
sumac trees along Fry Creek turned
impossibly, brilliantly red. Rose
noticed one day that the hickory leaves had
turned yellow. More and more acorns fell from the
oak tree next to the house. When the wind blew,
the wooden roof tapped and rattled with the sound of
acorns falling and rolling. It sounded like little
animals were scampering about up there.
Brown and yellow leaves drifted down like a
soft, crinkly rain. Rose liked walking through the
soft crunchy piles that gathered along the house and
against the tree trunks.
The air was full of butterflies, too. There
were small bright-yellow ones and many that were black and
orange. Rose often mistook them for fluttering
leaves. Black butterflies with shimmering blue
and white spots sat on the last flowers of
summer and slowly waved their wings.
When Rose stepped outside to gather stove
wood one morning, the forest was hidden behind a
curtain of thick cottony fog. She had never
seen anything so strange. The woods were
perfectly still. She could hear the horses whinnying
for their breakfast, and Papa's voice answering
them. She could hear the chickens clucking. But she
could not see anything beyond the nearest tree.
Everything was wet. A slow rain of fog water
dripped off the dying oak leaves and the tree
limbs. Water from the fog dripped lazily from the
roof.
After breakfast, the sun began to burn
through. Then Rose noticed something else. During
the night, spiders had woven webs everywhere. There
were spiderwebs draped on the grass stems, like
tiny lace tablecloths. There were webs around the
edges of the roof. Webs clung to the wagon
spokes. Spiders had spun them in the bushes and
in the trees and even in the curled-up, dried-out
blossoms of Queen Anne's lace.
Each silky thread was strung with rows of tiny
water beads, left there by the fog. Each silvery
web had a fat yellow-striped spider perched in
the middle. Rose worried the spiders with a stick
until they scrambled off to the side.
When the sun finally burned through the fog, its
yellow rays struck the webs and set them
sparkling like jeweled necklaces. Rose looked
up close: Each water bead had a tiny golden
sun in it that glittered with the colors of a rainbow.
By midmorning, the sun had dried out all the
webs. By dinner, Rose could not find any webs
or any spiders. Then, the next morning, they were
there all over again.
Mornings were chilly now. When Rose
sleepily stretched an arm out from under her patchwork
quilt, the air felt as cool as the water in the
spring.
"Time to chink the cabin," Papa said, shivering as
he pulled on his shoes.
He went to the creek right after breakfast the
next morning and brought back a bucket of
reddish-brown clay. All around the outside of the
house he stuffed and hammered chips of wood into the
spaces between the logs. Then he smeared clay
around the chips, to seal up the holes.
"Can I help, Papa?" Rose asked.
"Of course you can," said Papa. "Why
didn't I think of it? You plug the holes down
at the bottom. I'll do the ones up high."
Together they smeared clay into all those holes and
cracks between the logs. Rose enjoyed the smooth
feel of the clay, and she tried hard to do a tidy
job.
When Papa looked to see how she was doing, he
surprised her by bursting out with a great hearty
laugh.
"Why, you're as dirty as a mud fence after a
rain," he said, brushing a bit of dried clay from
her cheek. "But look what a fine job you're
doing. Nothing can get through those cracks now."
When they were done, the little log house was
warm and cozy. But now it was very dark, especially
with the door closed.
"It's a sin to burn coal oil in the daytime," Mama said. "But I can barely see what I'm
doing."
So Papa sent Cyrus into Mansfield
to deliver a load of wood and came to the house with
his ax, hammer, and chisel.
"Oh, Manly. You'll cut the window right
now?" Mama said. "How wonderful! Let's
see, I made a mark on the logs. Right here,
on the west wall. That way I can see the
sunset when I'm inside preparing for supper or
kneading dough."
"Very well, Bess," said Papa. "Like the good
Lord said, Let there be light."
First, he measured out a square, two logs
high, on the outside of the wall and marked it with
scratch lines. Then he hammered a deep cut
with the chisel along the scratch lines.
Next he chopped out a log with the ax. While
Papa chopped from the outside, Rose ran
inside so she could see the moment there was a hole.
For the longest time there was nothing but the sound of
Papa's ax thunking into the wood. Then the shiny
edge of the ax blade poked through the wood, and then
wiggled, as Papa pulled it out. It poked and
wiggled, poked and wiggled.
Finally a sliver of daylight appeared. Chips
flew into the cabin. Papa kept chopping until
he had cut all the way through, on both ends of the
width he had marked on the log. He pushed, and a
section of log fell into the house with a great
clunk. Now there was a real hole in the wall, with
Papa's face peering through it.
Rose got the broom to sweep up the chips.
"Not yet," Mama said. "Papa isn't
done."
Papa took Cyrus' two-handled saw and
pushed it through the hole. Mama took the other end,
and together they pushed and pulled until they had made
a clean, straight cut all the way through the log
below. Then they did the same thing at the other end
of the log.
The second piece of log fell into the house,
clunk!
Now the hole was as big as a window in a
sawed-board house. Light and fresh air poured
into the room. Rose could see the wagon tracks
going down toward Fry Creek. They
wouldn't have to go outside to see if company was coming.
Mama would know just when to put supper on the table
when Papa came home.
The light also let them see all the corners
inside the house. "I've got to get my broom
in those rafters," Mama said. "The spiders have
filled them with new webs."
At dinner they all looked out the window as they
ate, watching the leaves fluttering and the birds
flitting by.
"Windows are like pictures," Mama said.
"Only better. They're never the same for two
hours together."
In the afternoon Papa made the window frame from
hewn boards. He made auger holes in the
boards and in the logs, two on either side and two
each in the top and the bottom. He whittled eight
wooden pegs with his knife and hammered them through the
boards into the logs, good and snug.
Papa measured the windowframe carefully, and
when Cyrus returned, he rode into town. He
came back carrying a piece of glass in a
wooden frame. Two shiny brass hinges were
attached to one edge. He set that frame inside
the one he had built and attached the hinges. Now
it was a real window that opened and closed. Finally,
Papa made a leather catch so the window could be
shut tight.
Then they stood back to admire it.
"It's just beautiful!" said Mama. "The house seems bigger, and friendlier."
Rose looked out the window through the trees. So
many leaves had fallen that she could see all the
way to the little valley now. Very slowly, without
Rose having noticed, winter was coming.

A Walk in the Woods

Each day was full of chores. It was Rose's
chore to make sure there was enough cookwood by the
stove. She peeled potatoes, or sorted
beans, or stirred cornmeal. She set the table
before meals and helped wash and dry the dishes after.
Then she put them away in the dish box, all
except the bread plate. Rose was too short
to reach the mantel, where it belonged.
She swept the cabin and made her trundle
bed. Then she pushed it away, under the big bed.
She carried buckets of water for the chickens,
for the horses, for cooking, for laundry,
for the washbasin, for the dishes, for housecleaning, for
Saturday baths, and for drinking. She fed the
chickens and hunted eggs. Once a week, she
helped Mama clean the soiled leaves out of the
henhouse. Then they put down a bed of fresh
ones.
On Mondays, Rose helped Mama wash the
clothes. She stirred the big tin basin full of
steaming-hot water. She wasn't strong enough
to scrub their dresses and Papa's overalls.
But she could scrub the socks. Then she helped
rinse everything, three times, and hang it to dry.
On Tuesdays, she helped Mama with ironing.
On Fridays, they cleaned the whole house,
rafters to floors. On Saturdays, Mama
baked bread. Rose helped mix the dough.
In between there was mending and sewing. And Rose had
her lessons.
There was hardly time left over for playing,
except on Sundays. They still got up early
to do their morning chores. The horses had to be fed
and watered, no matter what day it was. The
chickens still must be pampered. Stove wood must be
gathered.
But after breakfast, and after Mama had read to them
from the Bible, Papa napped, Mama wrote, and
Rose read one of Mama's poetry books.
A fire crackled on the hearth; the air was rich
with the smell of Sunday dinner cooking on the
stove. They were safe and snug in their little log
house.
But Rose was lonely. She missed having
someone to play with. She missed Paul and
George.
When she got restless, she went outside and
played fetch with Fido. She poked around in the
woods and looked for Indian arrowheads by the
creek.
One Sunday Papa said she could scratch
Pet's chest. So Rose took a corncob and
walked across the clearing to where Papa kept the
horses tied. She pulled up some grass and
let Prince nibble it from her hand.
She heard a noise and looked up. A girl
was walking up the wagon track. She was wearing a
boy's straw hat. Peeking out from under the hat was
a pigtail, fiery red.
"Alva!" Rose called out.
"Say, Rose!" Alva shouted. "I'm going
to see a deer rub. Come on, I'll
show you."
"Deer rub?" said Rose. "What's that?"
"You never seen a deer either?" Alva said.
"Well, come on then. Maybe we'll see
one."
Mama said hello to Alva and told Rose
she must be back in time for dinner. Rose and
Alva walked a long, long way from the farm.
They walked along streams, climbed hills, and
explored little valleys. On the way, Alva
showed Rose the forest.
They walked along a little stream between two
hills. Alva stopped suddenly and pointed at the
water: "Look, a crawdad!"
Rose saw a smoky cloud of stirred-up
mud in the stream. Alva knelt down, staring
intently at something. She reached out her hand, very
slowly and carefully.
Fido watched, his head cocked to one side.
Suddenly, Alva's hand darted into the water.
Fido barked excitedly. In a second Alva
was holding something right in front of Rose's
face.
It was an ugly brown creature, big as a
baby's foot, dripping wet, and wriggling to get
free. Its bulgy eyes came out of its head
on stalks. Its two rows of little legs
squirmed and crawled in the air. Its scaly
tail curled and snapped.
Alva held it behind its head. Its two
front legs had claws on them, snapping at the
air, trying to pinch Rose.
"It's trying to bite!" Rose said.
"Watch this," said Alva. She picked up a
little twig and held it in front of the wriggling
crawdad. The creature reached out with one of its
claws and cut the little twig in two!
Then Alva threw it back into the stream. It
vanished so quickly, no eye could follow it.
"They're good to eat," Alva said. "Of a day,
we ought to catch ourselves a mess in Fry Creek
and cook 'em up."
They came to a grove of small trees. The
bark on some of them had been rubbed off in streaks.
That was a deer rub, Alva said.
"The deer comes and rubs his baby horns,
to make them strong."
But they didn't see any deer.
Alva showed Rose raccoon tracks, which
looked like a child's handprints. She showed
her holes in the ground where foxes slept.
Fido crisscrossed the woods. He stuck his
nose into rotting logs and fox dens and raccoon
tracks.
Alva showed Rose tracks where civet cats
had walked in the mud. A civet cat was like a
skunk, Alva said. "Only they ain't so
waddly. And you don't get much for the fur."
Alva knew about all the forest creatures.
She knew about hunting. She knew about trapping.
Alva even had her own money that she earned from
trapping and selling the furs.
"I got seventy cents all saved up from
selling pelts," Alva said. "You can come to my
house and look at it. My ma says to keep it,
for when I get married. But I don't know if
I will. If I was an old maid, I could stay
with my pa and get my own gun."
Alva also told Rose a panther story:
"One time it was real hot and this mama and papa
went to sleep with their door open, to get the air,"
she began. "A panther sneaked into the house and
stole the little baby right out of the mama's arms, when
she was sleeping." Alva's eyes were big and
round, and she spoke in a whisper, as if the
trees might hear. "That big old cat was so
sneaky, the mama didn't hear nothing till the
baby started screaming.
"All the menfolk got together and hunted that
panther to its den. Then they waited for it to come out.
They waited the longest time--days, it was.
Pointing their guns and just waiting. That old panther
knew they was waiting, too.
"Finally he got so hungry, he come running
out of his den, screaming the most horrible scream, like
a madwoman. That's what they sound like. The men
shot it dead, right there and then. They never did find
that poor little baby. Except a hunk of its
dress, was all."
Rose couldn't tell if Alva had made up
that story or not. "I think I should go home now,"
she said, looking around. "It must be almost dinner.
We aren't lost, are we?"
"You won't never get lost, long as you're
around me," Alva bragged. "I know my way in
these hills better'n anybody. But I'll
tell you a little secret: If you get lost,
walk downhill."
"Downhill?" said Rose.
"And keep going downhill," Alva
said. "Pretty soon you'll come to a creek, or
a fence, or maybe a farm. Then you ain't lost
no more!"

Rabbit Stew

On the way back to Rocky Ridge, Alva
told Rose, "There's plenty you ain't seen
yet. Come winter, I'll take you around my
trap line. You ought to get your pa to stick a
rabbit gum around here, Rose. There's always
rabbits hiding in them brush piles."
Rose remembered Fido's sniffing.
"What's a rabbit gum?"
"A kind of trap," said Alva. "You can
make one from a hollow black gum log. But just
for fun, sometimes you can scare the rabbits out
by jumping up and down on top of the pile."
The faraway sound of a bell floated on the
breeze. "There's my ma, calling dinner. I
got to go."
"Good-bye," Rose shouted out as Alva ran
down the hill. Alva was different from any girl
Rose had ever met. She was much more fun than the
polite girls Rose had played with in De
Smet. Alva told wonderfully scary
stories. And she was very smart.
At dinner, Rose told Mama and Papa
all about the walk. They listened to every word.
Mama's eyes grew as Rose repeated
Alva's panther story.
"I don't like panthers," said Mama. "I
remember the time one almost jumped on Pa, when
I was a little girl. The sound of its cry was
awful."
After dinner, Rose went outside to play.
She circled the brush pile, looking at it.
She knew she had to try climbing it. Rose
put her foot on a jutting tree limb. The
pile leaned unsteadily as her feet searched for
solid places to stand. Branches snapped under
her, sending her legs plunging into the tangle. But
finally she was perched on the very top, straddling two
branches, as high as the wagon-box.
The brush pile was very springy. Rose bounced
up and down, a little at first. The whole pile
bounced under her. Sticks and limbs crackled.
Rose bounced higher, and higher, until the whole
pile was bouncing.
Suddenly a rabbit darted out one
side of the pile and bounded away into a bush at the
edge of the woods.
"Fido!" Rose shouted. But Fido was nowhere
to be seen. Rose clambered down as fast as she
could and ran after it.
She picked up a stick and beat the bush. The
rabbit leaped out and ran up the hill. Rose
chased the rabbit up and down the hill, through
bushes, and over rocks. Every time the rabbit
stopped, Rose scared it up again.
Soon she was just about out of breath. Her feet
hurt from stubbing them on rocks. But the rabbit was
tired, too. When Fido finally came running,
the rabbit hopped into a hollow log.
Rose got down on her hands and knees
to look. She could see the shadow of its head and
ears. Fido whined and wagged his tail furiously.
He wanted to get into the log, but it narrowed too
much in the middle.
Rose found a big rock nearby that she pushed
and rolled over to the log. She pushed it into one
end. Then she found another rock and pushed and
rolled it against the other end. Now she had really
caught that rabbit! She shrieked with delight.
Fido pawed and whined.
Then Rose asked herself, "Now what?"
Papa would know what to do. She raced back to the
log house to fetch him.
"He's in there pretty far," Papa said when
Rose showed him the log. He found a stick and,
with his knife, he split the end of it. Then he
pushed the split end into the log, as far as it would
go. He twisted it and twisted it. Then he tugged
on the stick. Something was pulling against him. Then out
came the rabbit, its fur tangled up in the
split end of the stick. It was kicking hard.
"Whoops!" Papa shouted, reaching to grab the
rabbit by the neck.
But the rabbit gave one mighty kick against
Papa's leg. It bounded free of the stick and out
of his hands. Fido leaped up. Right in midair,
he caught the rabbit by its neck and gave it one
mighty shake.
That night the family sat down to Sunday
supper of corn bread and rabbit stew. Fido
got his share, too. "My little prairie Rose
is becoming quite the woodsman," said Papa.
"Yes, Rose," Mama agreed. "That
rabbit was so plump, there will be gravy enough for tomorrow's
dinner."
But Rose did not feel like a woodsman. And
even though she was very hungry, she ate just her
corn bread.
"You've hardly touched your supper," Mama
finally said. "Are you ill?"
"No," Rose said quietly. "I'm not very
hungry."
"I'm surprised at you, Rose. You've
liked rabbit stew when I've made it before."
Papa looked at Rose thoughtfully for a
moment. Then he laid down his fork and wiped his
mustache on his napkin. "Come here," he said
gently. Rose went and sat on his knee. "You
know, your capturing that rabbit was a lucky stroke
for us."
"It was?" said Rose.
"Yes indeed," said Papa. "We must all
keep up our strength, to work this farm and build it.
And every meal we harvest from our own land is a lucky stroke, because it is a meal we don't have
to earn by cutting, hauling, and selling wood. That
rabbit you caught is helping to keep us free and
independent, Rose. So long as we can live off
our land, we will never be beholden to others."
Then Mama asked, "Do you remember what it
says in the Bible about harvesting?"
"What?"
"It says, "To every thing there is a season: a
time to plant, and a time to pluck that which is
planted." It was time to pluck up that rabbit,
Rose. To harvest its life, to nourish and sustain
our own. You can be proud that you helped feed this
family."
Rose had never thought of rabbits as a harvest,
like wheat. Alva knew it. Now Rose did
too.
She went back to her dinner and by the last bite
Rose remembered how much she liked Mama's
rabbit stew. Wait till she told Alva about
that rabbit!

One morning, Papa and Cyrus hitched the
horses and began dragging logs from a great pile
they had cut to a place across the clearing from the
house. There they began to build the barn.
First they laid logs on the ground to make two
big squares, with a space between. Those were the
sills. The space between the two big squares was
where Papa would store the harness and wagon.
After dinner Papa sent Cyrus
into town to deliver wood. "Think I'll check
on the orchard," Papa said.
Rose was stirring laundry in the tub in
front of the house, and Mama was hanging up rinsed
things, when Papa came running. Without a word he
ran into the house. Mama ran in after him.
"Manly, what--?"
Then they both came right back out again. Papa
had his rifle, and Mama had the broom. "Stay
here, Rose," Mama said, and off they dashed.
But Rose couldn't obey. She snatched a
branch off the ground and ran after them. She
followed them around the hill behind the spring. She
caught up with them in the orchard. Papa was running
around the little apple trees, shouting madly, "Go
on! Scoot! Get gone! Ho! Hey!"
Fido was barking wildly at a brush pile.
Rose looked more closely. A huge animal
was lurking behind it. She could see its black body
moving, but she couldn't see what it was.
Mama walked up to the brush pile. Fido
dashed around the other side. Suddenly, out rushed
an enormous black hog! It was snorting
loudly and running hard. It was rushing straight at
Mama!
"Mama, look out!" Rose screamed.
Mama raised the broom to hit the hog on the
snout. But just then Fido ran up behind it and sank
his sharp teeth into the hog's hind leg. The hog
squealed horribly and whirled on little Fido,
snapping. Rose could hear its vicious teeth
clicking.
"Look out!" Rose shrieked again.
The hog kicked and whirled. It squealed and
snapped. But Fido was too nimble and quick. He
whirled with it, his teeth sunk fast in the hog's
leg. The hog could not hurt him.
Finally Fido let go. The hog rushed off
into the woods. They could hear it crashing through the
bushes for a long time after it was out of sight.
Papa came back, breathing hard. "I think
I scared the rest of them off," he said. "Must be
a sow. There was a bunch of smaller pigs, too.
They were stripping the bark right off the apple
trees. They ruined a whole row before I caught
them."
"Now what?" said Mama. "We can't shoot
them. Surely they belong to some farmer."
"I'm certain they do," said Papa.
"Missouri has free-range laws.
A farmer can let his hogs run wild, even on
someone else's land, until he's ready to go find
and butcher them. Each farmer notches his hogs'
ears with a special mark, to tell whose hog is
whose."
"I never heard of such an outlandish law," said
Mama. "What are we supposed to do, just let
them chew up our orchard?"
"Not on your tintype," said Papa. "We'll
have to build a fence around the apple trees. The
barn will wait."
"I declare," said Mama. "It's always something
else, isn't it?"
"That's life," Papa said, wiping his brow.
"If it isn't chickens, it's feathers."

Stubborn Land

Mama's excited voice woke Rose up.
"Oh, Manly," she said from the lean-to
doorway. "I've never seen anything so
lovely."
Rose flung back her quilt and jumped out
of bed. The wooden floor was cold. She hugged
herself as she ran to the doorway and squeezed between
Mama and Papa.
"What is it?" she demanded, rubbing the sleep
from her eyes.
Every tree, every limb, every single leaf and blade
of grass, the house, the henhouse, the wagon--
everything in the whole outside world--wore a coat
of silvery white. The silvered trees looked like
white lace. The frosted henhouse looked like a
cake that had been dusted with powdered sugar.
"You couldn't dream a world so beautiful,"
Mama said.
"What did that?" Rose asked.
"It's the hoarfrost," said Papa. "It comes
when the fog freezes."
Rose walked out onto the frosty ground. The
bottoms of her feet felt like a hundred tiny
needles were poking them. She picked a blade of
grass. It was covered with a delicate fur of
ice crystals. When she touched it with her tongue,
the fur melted. Everything in sight shimmered with it.
Here and there a breeze blew a puff of it from a
branch. It drifted away like silver dust.
The hoarfrost brought a hush to the woods, too.
The birds were too surprised to sing.
When Rose opened the little door, the
chickens poked their heads out and blinked in the
brightness. They clucked nervously. Their little beaks
puffed tiny breaths of steam. The chickens were too
cozy to come out and walk on the frozen fog.
Steam rose from the spring like a column of
chimney smoke. Mist floated over Fry
Creek.
"I'd better plow up the garden plot today,"
Papa said. "Before the ground freezes."
"At least make room for peas and
potatoes," said Mama. "Those will be the first to go
in."
The only open land Rose had seen on
Rocky Ridge was waiting for the apple trees.
In South Dakota all the land was open. Now they
lived in the forest.
"Where can we plant a garden, Papa?"
Rose asked.
"Right out there," he said, pointing to the woods.
"It's just waiting to be plowed."
Papa drove the wagon to borrow Mr.
Stubbins' plow. He hitched the mares to it and
began to break the stony ground between the trees.
It was a strange thing to see. Even Mama
chuckled at the sight of a man driving a plow through
the woods. But Papa said he didn't have to cut
all those trees down. He would deaden them
by chopping the bark off in a ring, all the way around
the trunk. In the spring, no leaves would sprout,
and sunlight could pour down through the bare limbs
onto the garden.
"In a few years, the dead trees will rot and
fall," Papa explained. It was a way a man
could clear land without having to cut trees and pull
out stumps.
But Rose and Mama did not laugh long. The
plow point kept striking hidden rocks and tree
roots. Each time, the plow handle jerked to a stop
and Papa stumbled in the lines.
Rose cringed at the sound of the horses grunting
as the harness dug into their necks. The shock of the
sudden stops knocked the breath from them in clouds of
steam. They pawed in frustration. They could not see
what was holding them back.
Papa spoke to the horses. The mares strained
to obey him. They tried as hard as they could to tear
the plow point through those roots, but they couldn't do
it.
"What is it?" Mama called out anxiously.
"Stubbins told me this might be a
problem," Papa said. "It takes mules
to break this soil. I see what he meant. It
takes a stubborn mule to fight a stubborn land."
Papa got the ax and chopped the roots through.
Then he put his shoulders into the lines again and
chirruped to the horses. But a hidden rock
tossed the plow aside. Another one threw it up
out of the ground. Mama helped Papa dig up the
heavy rocks and throw them out of the way.
Then the plow point hit another root. But this
time, Papa fell onto the end of the plow handle.
He moaned as the handle punched him in the stomach.
Mama gasped as Papa crumpled to the ground.
"Oh, Manly!" Mama cried out.
"Papa!" cried Rose.
They ran to his side. Mama bent over him.
Rose heard him gasping. Her eyes welled up
with tears.
"Rose, dampen a cloth and bring it here,
quick!" Mama said.
Rose couldn't budge. She stared at Papa,
rocking on the ground. She had never seen such pain
in his face.
"It's all right, Rose," Mama said.
"Papa just had his breath knocked out of him. Now
run and get that cloth."
Fear gave Rose extra speed. But it also
made her clumsy. She tripped on the
doorsill and knocked over a chair. She
snatched a dish towel from the handle of the bucket,
dunked it in the water, and ran back.
Papa was sitting up. His face was pale, but
he smiled weakly at her. She threw her arms
around his neck and hugged him hard.
"There, Rose. Don't cry," Papa said.
"It's just a little accident."
Mama helped Papa limp to bed. Then she
unhitched the team. Afterward she made him a cup of
tea. Papa stayed in bed the rest of the day with a
stomachache.
"I'll have to borrow a pair of mules," he
said. "I can't wear out the horses that way."
"I'll thank you to be more careful after this," said
Mama, putting wood on the fire. "My heart
was in my mouth."
Papa borrowed Mr. Stubbins' mules and
finished plowing up the garden. But the land fought back
every inch. Even the big-footed, long-eared mules
sometimes could not pull the plow through those
roots. But they tried and tried.
"They are snappish and ugly," Papa said.
"But I don't think you could ever wear a mule out."
After the plow had scarred the earth, Rose
helped Mama pick up the rocks. For many
days, all day long, they picked up rocks and
threw them to the side of the garden. No matter how
many rocks they took out, the earth grew more.
"I never saw anything like it," Mama said.
"Just when I think I've cleared a piece of it,
I turn around and there are more."
That was the hardest chore Rose had done yet.
Her back ached from bending over. The stones chafed
and cut her hands. Her arms and shoulders were sore.
Her hands were cold and dirty.
But when they were done, Rose looked at that
garden with pride. The reddish-brown soil between the
trees was all churned and clean, a fresh
blanket of earth. In the spring, Papa would plow
it again to break up the chunks. Then they would hoe it
and tuck in the tiny seeds of their first garden.
In the spring they would plant their own corn.
They would plant alfalfa, too, to feed the
horses. They would plant the apple trees
properly. But Mama said they would have to make do with
what they had this winter. They would have to endure.
South Dakota was wheat country, and they had
always had bread to eat. But wheat didn't grow in
the Ozarks. At first Rose had enjoyed all that
corn bread, covered with molasses. But it
wasn't special anymore. In fact, she was
growing tired of it. She missed milk, too.
In the morning Mama gave her a steaming bowl
of brown beans, a cup of water--and a piece of
corn bread. Without thinking, Rose sighed and
made a face. As soon as she did it, she
looked to see if Mama or Papa had
noticed. Mama was tending the stove, her back
turned. Papa was bending over, tying his shoes.
Rose's face burned with shame. It was sinful
to want things she couldn't have.

Falling Behind

Papa pulled on his jacket after breakfast,
picked up the ax, and was headed for the door when there
was a knock.
"Who could that be?" Mama said. Fido hadn't
barked and none of them had heard a
wagon's rattle or the jingle of harness.
Papa opened the door. Cyrus stood there, his
hat in his hand.
"Morning, Mr. Wilder," he said.
"'Scuse me for busting in like this. But my wife and
young'uns are down the creek, waiting in the
wagon. We're moving on. Something came up,
just that quick.
"So I came to tell you ... well, you
treated me square, is all. You're a man of
your word, and I reckon the leastest way I can show
my thanks is to shake your hand. We won't never
forget what you done for us, sir."
Papa was so stunned, he forgot for a moment
to meet Cyrus' handshake. Mama just stood there,
the half-washed plate in her hands dripping on the
floor. Rose placed the cup she had just dried
in the dish box. It settled with a noisy clatter
that startled her.
"Yes, of course," Papa finally said, taking
Cyrus' hand. "I wondered how much longer you'd
camp there, with cold weather due. You found a
situation then?"
"My brother down Eureka Springs way
sent for me," Cyrus said. "There's steady work for
carpenters. Sounds like it's a boom town.
Folks coming from all over, to take the healing
waters and all. Being it's winter and out of season,
we'll find us a reasonable roof over our heads
till spring."
"I'm sorry to see you go, Cyrus. But we
wish you well," Papa said. "If ever you're by this
way, give a shout."
"Yessir," said Cyrus. "I'll do it.
Good luck."
Papa watched him walk down the hill. Then
he closed the door and came back inside.
Mama sat down heavily.
"I worried about this," Papa said, laying down
the ax.
Mama sighed. "We won't get the barn up
in time for winter now."
"I don't see how," said Papa. "Those
hogs were tearing up the orchard again last week. I
have to finish that fence before anything. We might get a
mild winter. Then the horses could stay out. I
could build a shelter between some trees and fence it
in. But if the weather's bad, I've got to stable
them in town."
"But Manly, how could we possibly
pay for it?" Mama asked. "The chickens are
nearly done laying until spring. With Cyrus
gone, how can you cut and sell enough wood to make
ends meet?"
"We own a farm, Bess," Papa replied.
"We've got near a thousand apple trees, and
good timber, and four healthy horses. We can
get credit in town anytime we need."
"I don't like it. There must be another way,"
Mama said. Her hands balled into fists.
"We'll need credit for spring planting as it
is, for seed and supplies. I hate for us to start
all over again slaving to fatten merchants and
bankers. We came all this way to break that
cycle of debt. Once you fall behind, you never
catch up. It's every farmer's ruination."
Rose dried the last dishes as quietly as
she could.
"It's not as bad as all that, Bess," Papa
said. "Remember, we've got all the
firewood we could ever need, right at our
doorstep. In Dakota, coal to last the winter
cost us a hundred dollars. That's a big saving
right there. And spring comes a month, maybe two
months earlier here. We'll have our harvesting done
that much sooner."
Mama got up and carried the washbasin
outside to empty the dirty water. Papa hung
up his jacket.
When she came back in, Mama's face was
set. "I lack the strength to lift logs," she
said, folding the dish towel. "And I certainly
know nothing about building a barn," she added,
untying her apron. "But I've got my two
hands, I've driven a team, and I can work as
hard as the day is long. Let's get down to the
woodlot, Manly. We've wasted enough daylight
as it is."
So Mama went to work helping Papa. The sharp
ax was too heavy for her to swing. But Papa bought
a two-handled saw and she could hold one end of it,
to help Papa cut logs into stove wood and fence
lengths. Then Papa split the logs, some
into stove wood and others into fence rails. Mama
helped carry the rails to the orchard and lay them in
place.
Rose had extra chores now. Mama taught
her how to make the fire for dinner and supper.
Rose tidied the house by herself after breakfast.
She even made the big bed, although she
could never seem to get the quilt to hang
perfectly straight.
When her morning chores were done, Rose
watched Mama and Papa in the wood lot. She
picked up stove wood that Papa had split and
stacked it neatly. Rose was watching Mama and
Papa pushing and pulling the saw when Mama's
hands slipped off the handle in the middle of a
pull. Mama lost her balance and sat down hard
on the ground with an "Oomph!"
Mama's legs stuck out from her dress, like a
doll's. Her hair had come undone and she was red
in the face. Rose couldn't help laughing.
Papa's mouth twitched at the corners, and then
he guffawed loudly. He went to Mama and
helped her to her feet.
"I'm sorry, Bess," he said. "Are you
all right?"
"If my pa could see me now," Mama said,
"he'd be laughing louder than either of you. I'm just
fine." She brushed the leaves and sawdust from her
skirt. Then the rasping of the saw began again.
The days of work were even longer than before. When
supper was over, they climbed into their soft beds and
slept deeply until the nickel-plated alarm
clock woke them in the dark, and it was time to start
all over again.

Cave

No matter how much work there was to do, they still
rested on Sundays.
"I miss going to church," Mama told
Papa. "Especially the music. But I can't
decide which one. I lean toward Presbyterian,
but I'd hate to go to one and find I preferred the
other. I don't want to offend either."
"We could wait and see what the Cooleys
learn," said Papa. "After all, they live right
in town."
"Yes," said Mama. "Do ask them next time
you see them."
Some Sundays Alva came to visit. She and
Rose played in the woods or down at the
creek. They made little houses out of rocks.
They dammed up the spring branch to make a little
pond. They hunted for crawdads and ate ripe
persimmons.
One Sunday Alva showed Rose a cave.
It was an enormous hole in the side
of a hill near the farm. The hole went deep
into the hill. Dead ferns lined the top of the opening.
A little stream trickled out of it and wandered away
into the woods. From inside that great hole, Rose
heard the hollow sound of dripping water. Musty
air flowed from its great mouth.
"What's in there?" Rose asked.
"Things you ain't never seen," Alva said.
"Crickets that look like bumblebees. Bats.
And sometimes hogs."
"Hogs?" said Rose. She had seen hogs in
the orchard and didn't want to meet one anywhere.
"Yep," said Alva. "They live in caves
sometimes. They're mean, too. A mean old hog
could kill a dog easy."
"Are there hogs in there now?"
"Probably not," said Alva. "If any
hogs are living here, they're out eating acorns.
Come on," she said, walking through the opening. "Do you
want to see or not? It's nothing to be afraid
of. I come here plenty." Her voice turned
hollow-sounding as they walked into a dark, empty
room with a high ceiling. The air was warmer
inside.
"It makes your voice echo," said Rose,
hearing the hollow sound of her own voice.
"Hello!" she shouted, and from somewhere inside the
cave came a tiny answer, "Hello." Her
voice sounded very big in there.
"Listen to this," said Alva, and she screamed at
the top of her lungs. The cave made her
voice so enormous and scary-sounding that Rose just
had to scream along with her. Then they both laughed
until they were senseless.
Finally they were quiet again. The sound of falling
water was louder now. The floor was covered with
rocks and stones. They walked a little farther in,
around a corner. Light from the cave opening showed
water raining from a crack in the ceiling onto the
stones below.
"Come on," Alva said. "If them hogs was
here, they'd of showed theirselves. Or you'd of
smelled them. There ain't no hog tracks,
anyway."
The cave grew smaller and became a long
narrow tunnel, just tall enough for them to stand up. The
light from outside grew dimmer as it struggled
to reach around the bends.
A little stream ran down the middle of the
tunnel. The water was icy on their bare
feet, so Alva and Rose walked on a muddy
ledge that ran beside the stream. Their feet made
sucking, smacking sounds when they picked them up.
The rough stone wall felt cool and damp when
Rose touched it. The air smelled clammy.
They walked until they could not see anything in
front of them. Rose stared into the blackness. There
was nothing for the eye to rest on. She couldn't even
see her hand, or the wall right by her head. There was
only pure darkness that seemed to swallow her up.
"I can't see anything," Rose said. Now her
voice sounded small and muffled, as if the walls
were soaking it up. "I think we should go back."
She turned around and was shocked to see the light
from the cave's mouth far behind them. It was just a
small pale smudge in the distance. It was very
quiet there, too.
SPLASH!
"What was that!" Rose shouted. "Did you do
that?"
"Not me," Alva said in a quivery voice.
Rose's legs prickled with fear.
They stood still, staring into the blackness, listening
to the silence.
Then they heard it again: SPLASH, then
splash-splash-splash, splish. They heard a
grunt.
"Uh-oh," Alva said.
Without another thought, Rose spun and ran.
She didn't care about the cold water now. She
ran wherever her feet landed. She heard Alva
running behind her. She felt splashes of water from
Alva's running feet.
Rose did not stop to look. The sound of their
footsteps slapping and sucking in the mud, and the
splashing and thrashing in the water, echoed on the stone
walls, chasing her like some wild animal. She
tripped and fell, scraping her hands on the
rocks. Alva flew past.
Rose got up and ran even faster until
finally she burst into the opening. She had to squint
against the brilliant sunlight pouring down on the
forest outside.
Rose kept running until she caught up
to Alva. She was doubled over, trying to catch her
breath. Rose collapsed on the ground. She
gulped in the fresh dry air. It smelled
sweet and clean after the musty dampness of the cave.
The woods were peaceful and safe.
Rose's legs trembled. Her
lungs burned. Her palms were raw from the fall.
But she laughed from relief. She looked back
toward the cave, held her breath, and listened. But
all she could hear was the sound of trickling water in
the stream coming from the cave, and the cawing of crows
quarreling with each other in the tall trees.
"What was that sound?" asked Rose. "Was it
a hog?"
"Naw," Alva said. "Maybe a bobcat
or a raccoon. Raccoons like to splash in the
water."
They washed the mud off their hands and dresses and
walked back to the farm. As scared as she had
been, Rose thought the cave was the most exciting
thing Alva had showed her so far.

Barn Raising

"We are falling behind," Papa repeated one
night at supper. "The fence is done but we can't
cut enough wood, just the two of us, to keep going. I
need to take a job in town."
Papa was sitting by the chimney place. He
stretched his long legs out on the hearth and filled
a corncob pipe. The good smell of tobacco
mixed with the scent of burning hickory logs in the
fireplace.
Mama was sitting at the table mending a hole in
Rose's winter coat. "Must you?" she said.
"Just for now, Bess. John Cooley told
me of a job driving a wagon, delivering coal
oil. He says it's mine for the asking, and I
aim to ask."
Mama was quiet for a long time after that.
"The first mortgage payment is due next
month," she finally said.
"We'll scrape by," said Papa.
"And the barn? What about the horses?"
"Let me think about that one a spell," said
Papa. "I have an idea."
Papa rode off each morning to town, to drive
another man's wagon. He came home at
night, smelling of coal oil. Mama had to wash
his overalls every day to get out the odor. He also
sold or traded the asbestos fire mats.
"You see, Bess, I told you those things would
pay for themselves," Papa said when they were all gone.
"They earned us one whole dollar, without our
lifting a finger."
"Just you remember, we're farmers, not
merchants," said Mama.
One morning, after Papa left, Mama told
Rose they were going to clean the house, top
to bottom.
"It isn't Friday yet," Rose said.
"Company's coming," said Mama. "The
Cooleys and Alva's family."
Rose was surprised. "Paul and George?
And Alva? Everyone is coming here?"
"Yes," said Mama. "They are coming to help
finish the barn, and I want the place to shine.
We may not live like nabobs, but that's no
excuse for an untidy house."
"What's a nabob?"
"Never mind," Mama said. "Here's a rag.
Start dusting the logs."
Mama took the broom and knocked the
spiderwebs out of the rafters. After the dusting was
done, they hung the rag rug outside, and Rose
beat the dirt out of it with a stick.
They took the beds apart and fluffed up the straw
ticks. Mama hung the quilts and sheets
outside to air while they scrubbed the floor with
sand, then rinsed it with water.
After dinner they cooked. Mama baked extra
corn bread and rolled out pie crusts. Rose
peeled enough apples for two pies, being careful
to keep the peels thin so nothing would go to waste.
Then Mama butchered her two oldest hens for a
chicken pie she would make in the morning.
All day long Rose thought about the things she would
show Paul and George.
And she couldn't wait to hear about living in the
hotel.
Just before supper, Rose cleaned the lamp
chimney and Mama dusted the face of the clock.
Mama put their best quilt on the bed, the one
with the red bear-claw pattern. She got out her
second-best calico dress and Rose's blue
school dress.
"There," Mama said, slumping tiredly into a
chair. "I'm all done in. But the house is
ready at least."
After the supper dishes were washed, they took
baths and climbed wearily into bed. But it felt as
if Rose had no sooner laid her head down
than the alarm clock woke her up.
"Time to get up, Rose," Mama said. "We
still have regular chores before everybody gets here."
Papa fed and watered the horses and
got them in harness. Rose rolled out crusts for the
chicken pie.
They ate a cold breakfast so Mama could
make the pie. She browned the pieces of chicken
in salt pork and laid them in the spider-legged
skillet. Then she sprinkled bits of salt
pork and hard-boiled egg on them, and poured
gravy over it all. Finally, she laid on the
top crust, cut two pine trees in the dough, and
set the skillet in the fireplace. It would be
ready for dinner.
Rose swept out the cabin again, and then everything
was ready. The eastern sky was just turning rosy when
Fido barked: Mr. and Mrs. Cooley were
driving up the hill in their wagon. Right behind them
came a second wagon, with Alva on the seat
between her mother and father.
"Say, Rose!" Paul shouted.
"Hello, Laura!" Mrs. Cooley cried
out.
"Hello!" "Howdy!" "Aren't you a sight for
sore eyes!" Everyone talked at once.
Rose was bursting with excitement. But she
barely had time to say hello when she heard more
wagon wheels ringing on the rocks. Another
wagon was coming up the hill. Behind it was still another.
And another! Mama stared in wonderment. Papa
whistled low.
"Well, I'll be starched," he said.
Those wagons pulled right up into the clearing.
Men and women and children began pouring out of them.
"Who are all these strangers?" Mama asked
Papa, her eyes wide.
"I didn't mention it, Bess, because I
didn't expect it. Stubbins said he might
pass the word along to the neighbors. Seems he
did, at that. I'd say they've come to help."
Mama shook her head in disbelief.
"Praise be," she said quietly. "I don't
know what to think. How will I ever feed them all?"
"They brought food, Mama," Rose said.
"Look."
The women on the wagon seats were handing down
baskets with white cloths over them. Children were
carrying pitchers and bowls. They were bringing all that
food to the house.
Now the clearing became a swirl of activity.
Women wearing large bonnets and pleasant
smiles came to introduce themselves to Mama.
"Howdy, Mrs. Wilder. I'm
Mrs. Lockwood. Our place is just the other
side of the tracks. Sure is a sweet little
spot you got here. Is that your little girl? Why,
she has the most beautiful blue eyes. I
brought some of my pickles today. I'll just set
them over there."
"I'm Lydia Bates," said another
woman. "I don't mean to pry, but would you be
joining us down at the Methodist church? Everyone
says we have the best choir in town. We'd be
pleased to have you folks some Sunday."
Mama smiled shyly and thanked everyone
politely. But she still had a bewildered look on
her face.
Rose heard hearty greetings everywhere. All
those strangers knew each other.
Mrs. Cooley helped Mama decide where
to set all the food.
"Isn't it wonderful, Laura?" she said.
"I've never met such friendly folks as I have
since we came to Missouri. It took a bit
of getting used to at first. But I wouldn't have it
any other way now."
Papa spoke with Mr. Cooley and Mr.
Stubbins to plan out the barn raising. Their breath
made a mist in the morning chill. Coats came
off and were flung on stumps. Sharp axes, resting
in the ends of logs, waited to go to work.
Rose wanted to watch the barn being built and
to play with her friends. But there was no time for any of
that.
"Come here," Mama said. "We've got
plenty to do if we're to feed everybody
by dinnertime."
All morning Rose and Alva ran in and out
of the house helping the women prepare dinner. The
house was crammed full of people. Rose never quit
smiling. She hardly saw Paul and George
at all. They were with the other boys, helping the men
and tending the horses.
Rose and Alva took turns stirring the
iron pot of beans and salt pork that simmered
over a pit fire outside. Mrs. Stubbins had
brought potatoes, which they roasted in the ashes.
Other neighbors had brought sweet potatoes
and salt pork and smoked ham and fried chicken and
bowls of pickles and bowls of sweet-and-tart
corn relish. There were apple pies and
persimmon puddings and doughnuts and gingerbread.
There were pitchers of milk and apple
cider and ginger water.
All morning Rose heard the sounds of logs
crashing as the horses dragged them from the pile to the
place where the barn sills lay on the ground.
Men groaned and shouted as they lifted the logs
into place. Axes rang out as other men slashed
notches into the logs so they fit together as
perfectly as a jigsaw puzzle.
First side logs were set in place. Next
end logs. Then side logs again. Slowly but
surely the barn walls began to rise.
The day warmed until it was almost summery.
Piles of clouds floated in the deep-blue
sky. The rasping of saws and thudding of axes
didn't stop all morning. Then, finally, one of the
women took a wooden spoon and beat the bottom
of an empty pail as loud as she could. A great
cheer went up from the men. It was noontime, and that was
the dinner bell.
All the food was laid out on planks that had
been made into tables by laying them on stumps. The
logs were covered with pans and platters, bowls and
pitchers, forks, spoons, plates, and cups.
The children waited at the side while the women served
the men.
Rose introduced Alva to Paul and
George.
"Where do you live?" Alva asked. "I never
seen you around here before."
"We live in town," Paul said. "In the
Mansfield Hotel. My pa and ma run it."
"Well, that's something," Alva said. "I never
been inside a hotel. What's it like?"
"It's the best place I ever lived," said
Paul. Rose was surprised to see how much
taller and older he looked. "You see different
people coming and going all day, getting on and off the
trains or driving into town to trade.
"Pa sends me to meet the trains and the
stagecoaches from Hartville and Ava. Look,
Rose. Pa even gave me my own pocket
watch."
Paul pulled a silver watch from his pants
pocket and opened it. It was handsome and grown-up,
with a locomotive engraved on the back.
"I greet the guests and carry their bags,"
he said, snapping the watch shut. "Sometimes they
even give me a nickel tip!"
"Why?" asked Rose.
"For being helpful and polite, of
course," Paul said. "I also have to keep the
lamps filled with coal oil, and the stoves hot
when it's cold. And sweep out the rooms. I
help make up the beds, too." He made a
face at that.
"But gosh, Rose," he said, brightening. "It's
practically the middle of the whole world!"
The jingle of harness and the shouts of the men going
back to work told them that it was time for the women and children
to eat.

A Real Farm

After dinner Rose and Alva helped wash the
dishes. All the leftover food was packed
away and the dishes, platters, bowls, pots, and
pans put back in their baskets. Then the women
went to their wagons and brought back knitting and
sewing. They all sat outside the house on
logs and stumps, chatting and laughing. Mama said
Rose could go watch the men work on the barn.
The barn walls were finished. The ends of the logs
at each corner were bright yellow where they had been
trimmed for a snug fit. Wood chips lay
everywhere like golden snowflakes. Now the men were
sitting and standing on top of the walls. They were
putting up small logs to make rafters for the
roof.
The heavy log hauling was done, so Paul and
George could watch, too.
"Come on," Rose said to Alva. "Let's
show them the apple trees. Wild hogs tried
to eat the bark," she told Paul and George,
"but we chased them away."
On the way to the orchard, Rose told them about
the tarantula, and the rats that were in the house until
Fido got rid of them. She told them about the
cave. Alva told her panther story.
"It sounds like fun living on a farm,"
George said as they walked back. "I hate
working in the kitchen all the time. We hardly ever
get to play. You play all the time."
Rose knew better, but she didn't say a
word.
"It's nice here, all right," Paul said.
"But I still like town better."
The rest of the afternoon, in between trips to the spring
to bring water to the horses, the children watched the roof
go on. Papa helped hand the bright, rived-board
shingles he and Cyrus had split to the
men balancing on the rafters. They nailed the
rived-board shingles in rows, beginning at the
roof's edge. Row by row, they continued up the
rafters toward the peak.
Finally, when it was nearly time to start evening
chores, the last shingle had been nailed in
place. The barn was finished!
Families put their baskets and sewing back
in the wagons and hitched their teams. Rose was
sorry to see everyone go.
"See you in school, I guess," Paul
said. "It starts in two weeks, you know."
"I won't see you," said Rose, feeling
even more sorry now. "I'm not going. Not until
next year, I think."
"Why not?" asked Paul. "You're the best
student there is. You beat me in every spelldown."
"I have to help Mama and Papa," Rose
said. "To build up the farm. But Mama said we
could visit on Sundays."
Mama and Papa went around to all the wagons
and shook everyone's hand. "We can't thank you
enough." "Please let us know if we can ever be of
help." "Do stop by, anytime." It took a
long time to thank all those people and say good-bye.
One by one, the wagons rumbled off down the hill.
Finally, the Cooleys were the only ones left.
"It was a delightful day," Mrs. Cooley
said. "But Laura, we hardly had time to talk!
I've missed you so."
"I've missed you too, Emma," said
Mama. "Especially when I think of the peaceful
Sundays we shared on the way here. Traveling in
the wagons seems almost like a holiday compared to the
work of building up a farm."
"I know what you mean," Mrs. Cooley
replied. "I have seven sets of sheets to wash,
and a dining room full of hungry, impatient,
traveling men to feed."
A train whistled in the distance.
"That'll be Number Five, Emma," Mr.
Cooley called from the seat of the wagon. "We'd
best make tracks, or we'll have some unhappy
customers."
"Good-bye, Laura," Mrs. Cooley
called out. "Come and see us soon. Anytime at
all. We can go to church some Sunday, and see about
that choir."
"We will, Emma," Mama said. Both
families waved good-bye. "Thank you
all so much," Mama said. "We will never forget this
day."
Mama's face glowed as they watched the
Cooleys drive away.
Finally, Mama, Papa, and Rose were alone
again. The woods seemed very still after all that commotion.
"Let's take a look, shall we?" said
Papa. They walked all the way around the barn.
It was the first time Rose had seen all its
sides. It was much bigger than she had expected.
Where Papa and Cyrus had laid logs to make
two squares in the grass, there were now two log
rooms. In between the rooms was an open hallway.
That was where Papa would put the wagon and store the
harness to keep it dry. Over all of it was the
shingled roof. Seeing the roof made Rose feel
happy; from now on the horses would be safe and
dry. But the barn was not chinked. Rose could see in
through the wide spaces between the logs.
"Won't the horses get cold?" Rose
asked. "Don't we have to put mud in the
cracks, like the house?"
"No," Papa said. "This is the way they
build barns here. It's not so cold and windy as
South Dakota."
Rose ran into the open hallway and saw four
large openings, two on either side. She looked
into one of them. The large room was divided in
half by a log wall. She looked in all the
doorways and saw that both rooms were the same.
The barn had been divided into four stalls, one for
each of the horses.
The stall openings needed gates, but Papa said
he would do that later. The air there was rich with the
sweet scent of new-cut wood. Rose took
a deep breath to enjoy it better.
Mama walked into all the stalls, touching the
wood and looking at the workmanship.
"They did a solid job," said Mama. "It
should last us a long, long time."
"Yes, and the wood is green," said Papa.
"When the logs dry out and shrink, the joints will be
even tighter."
"Oh, Manly," Mama said, turning to look
at Papa with shining eyes. "Who could ask for
better neighbors?"
Rose had not thought about it all day, in the
excitement and confusion. But now she asked, "Why
did all those strangers come to help build our
barn?"
"It's a custom in these hills," Papa said.
"They call it a working, Rose, when folks get
together to help each other with some big chore. It's
a chance to be sociable with your neighbors and do them
a good turn at the same time. These Ozarkers know
that everyone needs a hand sometime. It just happened
to be our turn."
Rose remembered Mama reading from Romans:
"Be of the same mind one toward another."
"But how could we ever help all those people back?"
she asked. "There were so many."
"We'll be living here a long time, Rose,"
Mama said. "There will be no end of chances to show our
thanks."
The forest darkened as the sun set. A few
crimson-and-gold clouds floated in the clear
sky. Rose helped Papa spread straw and
dry leaves on the earthen floor of the new
stalls. Then he led the horses in for the first time.
Pet walked right in, her head held high. Little
Pet tried to follow, but Papa pushed her out.
"You youngsters are getting too old to stable with your
mothers," Papa said. "It's time you were weaned and on
your own." While Mama tied Pet to a log in
her stall, Papa tied a rope on Little Pet
and led her into her own stall next door. Little
Pet whinnied and defiantly tossed her head as
Papa tied her to a log, too. But when the colt
saw her mother in the stall opposite, she calmed
down.
After Papa and Mama had put May and
Prince into their stalls, Papa visited each of the
four horses. He talked softly to them and
stroked their necks, to make them feel at home.
When Mama, Papa, and Rose finally left the
barn, the horses watched them go, peering at them
through the openings in the logs.
"We're as poor as mice in the spring,"
Mama said over supper. "Yet now I know we
aren't alone here. I suppose we aren't having
such a hard time after all." Her beautiful
purple-blue eyes sparkled in the lamplight.
"It depends on how you look at it."
"Yes, indeed!" said Papa. "It depends a
good deal on how you look at it."
Rose thought about the lonely log house that had
first greeted them. They had no cows or sheep
yet. But Rocky Ridge was a real farm now,
with a dry, sturdy place for the mares and colts, a
comfortable henhouse for the chickens, and a
tightly chinked house for themselves.
Coming to Missouri had been a wonderful
adventure after all. Rose wished Grandma,
Grandpa, and her aunts could see Rocky
Ridge Farm. She knew they would be just as proud
of it as she was.


















Author's Note

Dear Reader,
Since 1968, thousands of children have written
to me. That's when Rose Wilder Lane died at
the age of eighty-one, leaving me, her only
heir, all the "Little House" books written
by her mother, Laura Ingalls Wilder. Many of
those letters express the same feelings--that Laura
seems like a friend, and that her books make readers
feel as though they are a part of her life.
I have tried in this book, and the others that will soon
follow, to do the same for Rose's life. I
loved Rose just like a grandmother. In fact, I
called her Gramma. I sat in her warm,
cozy kitchen many times watching her knead dough
to bake bread, or browning chicken for her famous
chicken pie, and talking with her about things that were
bothering me, about writing, about the world, the weather, and
life.
Like Laura, Rose was a great writer. She
knew that to write well about something, you had to be
sure of your facts, even when writing about yourself.
It is easier to make a book seem real when it
is about your own life, as Laura's are. But this
book is not about my life, or even about
my lifetime.
To make Little House on Rocky Ridge
seem as real as Laura's books, I had
to learn things about Rose's life when she was a little
girl, long before I was born. There were some
stories that she had told me herself. But I also
read her diaries and letters and the many stories and
books she wrote when she was grown up. And I
had to learn about life in 1894, the year this story
takes place. I had to make sure of my
facts.
So that is how it came to be that many people actually
helped me to write this book. Some of them were
experts about history. They told me what living
was really like one hundred years ago, when Laura
and Almanzo brought Rose to Missouri. Some of
them knew about farm life and told me all about
chickens and horses and such. Some people who helped
me were good friends, who kept my spirits up. There were
other writers, too, who showed me what was good about
my writing, and how to make it better.
There isn't room here to thank all those people. But
here are a few who were especially helpful:
William Anderson, a schoolteacher and writer
who has worked for years to preserve and protect the
memory of Laura and Rose;
Bonnie Appleby, my assistant and
trusted friend;
Eddie Bell, Chief Executive Officer
of HarperCollins UK, who encouraged me
to write this book and was determined to publish it;
Norma Lee Browning Ogg, a prot@eg`e
and good friend of Rose's;
Jean Coday, head of the elementary school in
Rose's old hometown and one of my dearest
friends;
Robert B. Flanders, Ph.d., and Robert
K. Gilmore, Ph.d., experts on the
history of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, at
the Center for Ozark Studies in Springfield;
Erin Gathrid, my editor at
HarperCollins, who always held me to the highest
standards set by Laura's books;
Vivian Glover, curator of the Laura
Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society in
De Smet, South Dakota, a long-time
inspiration to all who know her;
Dwight M. Miller, the person in charge of
keeping most of Laura's and Rose's diaries
and writings at the Herbert Hoover
Presidential Library in West Branch,
Iowa;
Neta Seal, an old friend of Laura's who
told me tales of her own childhood growing up
in the early years of this century in the Ozarks;
Noel Silverman, my close friend and valued
attorney;
And Connie Tidwell, late curator of the
museum and Homestead at Mansfield,
Missouri, where Laura and Almanzo settled
in 1894.

THE END