“All right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ve got to stop every couple of miles. They can’t make more,” he explained.
Laura’s heart sank. Then they had come only six miles. There were still six miles to go. They went on swiftly against the cutting wind. In spite of all she could do, Laura shook all over. Pressing her knees tight together did not stop their shaking. The lantern beside her feet under the fur robes seemed to give no warmth. The pains bored into her temples, and a knot of pain tightened in her middle.
It seemed a long time before the horses slowed again, and again Almanzo stopped them. The bells rang out, first Prince’s, then Lady’s. Almanzo was clumsy, getting into the cutter again.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
She was growing more used to the cold. It did not hurt so much. Only the pain in her middle kept tightening, but it was duller. The sound of the wind and the bells and the cutter’s runners on the snow all blended into one monotonous sound, rather pleasant. She knew when Almanzo left the cutter to thaw the ice from the horses’ noses again but everything seemed like a dream.
“All right?” he asked. She nodded. It was too much trouble to speak.
“Laura!” he said, taking hold of her shoulder and shaking her a little. The shaking hurt; it made her feel the cold again. “You sleepy?”
“A little,” she answered.
“Don’t go to sleep. You hear me?”
“I won’t,” she said. She knew what he meant. If you go to sleep in such cold, you freeze to death.
The horses stopped again. Almanzo asked, “Making it all right?”
“Yes.” she said. He went to take the ice from the horses’ noses. When he came back he said, “It’s not far now.”
She knew he wanted her to answer. She said, “That’s good.”
Sleepiness kept coming over her in long, warm waves, though she was holding her eyes wide open. She shook her head and took burning gulps of air, and struggled awake, but another wave of sleepiness came, and another. Often when she was too tired to struggle any longer, Almanzo’s voice helped her. She heard him ask, “All right?”
“Yes,” she said, and for a moment she would be awake; she heard the sleigh bells clearly and felt the wind blowing. Then another wave came.
“Here we are!” she heard him say.
“Yes,” she answered. Then suddenly she knew that they were at the back door of home. The wind was not so strong here; its force was broken by the building on the other side of Second Street. Almanzo lifted the robes and she tried to get out of the cutter, but she was too stiff; she could not stand up.
The door flashed open, and Ma took hold of her, exclaiming, “My goodness! are you frozen?”
“I’m afraid she’s pretty cold,” Almanzo said.
“Get those horses into shelter before they freeze,” Pa said. “We’ll take care of her.”
The sleigh bells dashed away, while with Pa and Ma holding her arms, Laura stumbled into the kitchen.
“Take off her shoes, Carrie,” Ma said as she peeled off Laura’s veil and knitted woolen hood. The frost of her breath had frozen the veil to the hood and they came away together. “Your face is red,” Ma said in relief. “I’m thankful it isn’t white and frozen.”
“I’m only numb,” Laura said. Her feet were not frozen, either, though she could hardly feel Pa’s hands rubbing them. Now in the warm room she began to shake from head to foot and her teeth chattered. She sat close by the stove while she drank the hot ginger tea that Ma made for her. But she could not get warm.
She had been cold so long, ever since she got out of bed that morning. In the Brewsters’ cold kitchen her place at the table was farthest from the stove and near the window. Then came the long walk through the snow to school, with the wind blowing against her and whirling up under her skirts; the long, cold day in the schoolhouse, and then the long ride home. But there was nothing to complain of, for now she was at home.
“You took a long chance, Laura,” Pa said soberly. “I did not know that Wilder was starting until he had gone, and then I was sure he’d stay at Brewster’s. It was forty below zero when that crazy fellow started, and the thermometer froze soon afterward. It has been steadily growing colder ever since; there’s no telling how cold it is now.”
“All’s well that ends well, Pa,” Laura answered him with a shaky laugh.
It seemed to her that she never would get warm. But it was wonderful to eat supper in the happy kitchen, and then to sleep safely in her own bed. She woke to find the weather moderating; at breakfast Pa said that the temperature was near twenty below zero. The cold snap was over.
In church that Sunday morning Laura thought how foolish she had been to let herself be so miserable and frightened. There were only two weeks more, and then she could come home to stay.
While Almanzo was driving her out to the Brewsters’ that afternoon she thanked him for taking her home that week.
“No need for thanks,” he said. “You knew I would.”
“Why, no, I didn’t,” she answered honestly.
“What do you take me for?” he asked. “Do you think I’m the kind of a fellow that’d leave you out there at Brewster’s when you’re so homesick, just because there’s nothing in it for me?”
“Why, I…” Laura stopped. The truth was that she had never thought much about what kind of a person he was. He was so much older; he was a homesteader.
“To tell you the whole truth,” he said, “I was in two minds about risking that trip. I figured all week I’d drive out for you, but when I looked at the thermometer I came pretty near deciding against it.”
“Why didn’t you?” Laura asked.
“Well, I was starting out in the cutter, and I pulled up in front of Fuller’s to look at the thermometer. The mercury was all down in the bulb, below forty, and the wind blowing colder every minute. Just then Cap Garland came by. He saw me there, ready to go out to Brewster’s for you, and looking at the thermometer. So he looked at it, and you know how he grins? Well, as he was going on into Fuller’s, he just said to me over his shoulder, ‘God hates a coward.’”
“So you came because you wouldn’t take a dare?” Laura asked.
“No, it wasn’t a dare,” Almanzo said. “I just figured he was right.”
Chapter 9
The Superintendent’s Visit
“I have only to get through one day at a time,” Laura thought, when she went into the house. Everything was still all wrong there. Mrs. Brewster did not speak; Johnny was always miserable, and Mr. Brewster stayed at the stable as much as he could. That evening while she studied, Laura made four marks on her notebook, for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. She would mark off one of them every night; when they were gone, there would be only one week more.
Day after day the weather grew colder again, but still there was no blizzard. The nights passed quietly, though Laura lay half-asleep and woke often. Each evening she crossed out a mark. It seemed to make time pass more quickly, to look forward to crossing out one more day.
All Wednesday night she heard the wind howling and snow beating on the window. She dreaded that there might be no school next day. But in the morning the sun was shining, though there was no warmth in it. A bitter wind rolled the snow low across the prairie. Laura gladly faced it as she fought her way to the school shanty, breaking her path again.
Snow was blowing through the cracks, and once more she let her pupils stand by the stove to study. But slowly the red-hot stove warmed the room, until at recess Laura could hardly see her breath when she blew it above Clarence’s back seat. So when she called the school to order she said, “The room is warmer now. You may take your seats.”
They were hardly in their places, when a sudden knock sounded on the door. Who could it be? she wondered. As she hurried to the door, she glanced through the window, but nothing was to be seen. At the door stood Mr. Williams, the county sup
erintendent of schools.
His blanketed team stood tied to a corner of the school shanty. The soft snow had muffled the sounds of their coming, and they had no bells.
This was the test of Laura’s teaching, and how thankful she was that the pupils were in their seats. Mr. Williams smiled pleasantly, as she gave him her chair by the red-hot stove. Every pupil bent studiously to work, but Laura could feel how alert and tense they were. She was so nervous that it was hard to keep her voice low and steady.
It heartened her, that each one tried hard to do his best for her. Even Charles made an effort, and surpassed himself. Mr. Williams sat listening to recitation after recitation, while the wind blew low and loud and the snow drifted through the cracks in the walls.
Charles raised his hand and asked, “Please may I come to the stove to warm?” Laura said that he might, and without thinking to ask permission, Martha came too. They were studying from the same book. When their hands were warm, they went back to their seat, quietly, but without asking permission. It did not speak well for Laura’s discipline.
Just before noon, Mr. Williams said that he must go. Then Laura must ask him if he wished to speak to the school.
“Yes, I do,” he answered grimly, and as he rose to his full height of six feet, Laura’s heart stood still. Desperately she wondered what she had done that was wrong.
With his head nearly touching the ceiling he stood silent a moment, to emphasize what he intended to say. Then he spoke.
“Whatever else you do, keep your feet warm.”
He smiled at them all, and again at Laura, and after shaking her hand warmly, he was gone.
At noon Clarence emptied the coal hod into the stove, and went out into the cold to fill it again at the bin. As he came back he said, “We’ll need more coal on the fire before night. It’s getting colder, fast.”
They all gathered close to the stove to eat their cold lunches. When Laura called the school to order she told them to bring their books to the fire. “You may stand by the stove or move about as you please. So long as you are quiet and learn your lessons, we will let that be the rule as long as this cold weather lasts.”
The plan worked well. Recitations were better than ever before, and the room was quiet while they all studied and kept their feet warm.
Chapter 10
Almanzo Says Good-By
That Saturday at home, Ma was worried about Laura. “Are you coming down with something?” she asked. “It isn’t like you to sit half-asleep.”
“I feel a little tired. It isn’t anything, Ma,” Laura said.
Pa looked up from his paper. “That Clarence making trouble again?”
“Oh, no, Pa! He’s doing splendidly, and they are all as good as can be.” She was not exactly lying, but she could not tell them about Mrs. Brewster and the knife. If they knew, they would not let her go back, and she must finish her school. A teacher could not walk away and leave a term of school unfinished. If she did, she would not deserve another certificate, and no school board would hire her.
So she made a greater effort to hide from them her sleepiness and her dread of going back to Mrs. Brewster’s house. There was only one more week.
By Sunday afternoon the weather had moderated. The temperature was only fifteen degrees below zero when Laura and Almanzo set out. There was hardly any wind and the sun shone brightly.
Out of a silence Laura said, “Only one more week, and I’ll be so glad when it’s over.”
“Maybe you will miss the sleigh rides?” Almanzo suggested.
“This one is nice,” Laura said. “But mostly it is so cold. I should think you’d be glad not to drive so far any more. I don’t know why you ever started making these long drives; you didn’t need to take them to get home, the way I do.”
“Oh, sometimes a fellow gets tired of sitting around,” Almanzo replied. “Two old bachelors get pretty dull by themselves.”
“Why, there are lots of people in town! You and your brother needn’t stay by yourselves,” Laura said.
“There hasn’t been anything going on in town since the school exhibition,” Almanzo objected. “All a fellow can do is hang around the saloon playing pool, or in one of the stores watching the checkers players. Sometimes he’d rather be out with better company, even if it does get cold, driving.”
Laura had not thought of herself as good company. If that was what he wanted, she thought, she should make an effort to be more entertaining. But she could not think of anything entertaining to say. She tried to think of something, while she watched the sleek brown horses, trotting so swiftly.
Their dainty feet spurned the snow in perfect rhythm, and their blue shadows flew along the snow beside them. They were so gay, tossing their heads to make a chiming of the bells, pricking their ears forward and back, lifting their noses to the breeze of their speed that rippled their black manes. Laura drew a deep breath and exclaimed, “How beautiful!”
“What is beautiful?” Almanzo asked.
“The horses. Look at them!” Laura answered. At that moment, Prince and Lady touched noses as though they whispered to each other, then together they tried to break into a run.
When Almanzo had gently but firmly pulled them into a trot again, he asked, “How would you like to drive them?”
“Oh!” Laura cried. But she had to add, honestly, “Pa won’t let me drive his horses. He says I am too little and would get hurt.”
“Prince and Lady wouldn’t hurt anybody,” Almanzo said. “I raised them myself. But if you think they’re beautiful, I wish you could’ve seen the first horse I ever raised, Starlight. I named him for the white star on his forehead.”
His father had given him Starlight as a colt, back in New York State when he was nine years old. He told Laura all about gentling Starlight, and breaking him, and what a beautiful horse he was. Starlight had come west to Minnesota, and when Almanzo first came out to the western prairies, he had come riding Starlight. Starlight was nine years old then, when Almanzo rode him back to Marshall, Minnesota, one hundred and five miles in one day, and Starlight came in so fresh that he tried to race another horse at the journey’s end.
“Where is he now?” Laura asked.
“At pasture on Father’s farm back in Minnesota,” Almanzo told her. “He is not as young as he used to be, and I need a double team for driving out here, so I gave him back to Father.”
The time had passed so quickly that Laura was surprised to see the Brewsters’ ahead. She tried to keep up her courage, but her heart sank.
“What makes you so quiet, so sudden?” Almanzo asked.
“I was wishing we were going in the other direction,” Laura said.
“We’ll be doing that next Friday.” He slowed the horses. “We can delay it a little,” he said, and she knew that somehow he understood how she dreaded going into that house.
“Till next Friday, then,” he smiled encouragingly, as he drove away.
Day by day and night by night that week went by, until there was only one more night to get through. Tomorrow was Friday, the last day of school. When that one night and one day were over, she would go home to stay. She so dreaded that something might happen, this last night. Often she woke with a start, but all was quiet and her heart slowly ceased thumping.
Friday’s lessons were unusually well-learned, and every pupil was carefully well-behaved.
When afternoon recess was over, Laura called the school to order, and said there would be no more lessons. School would be dismissed early, because this was the last day.
She knew that she must make some closing speech to the school, so she praised them all for the work they had done. “You have made good use of the opportunity you had to come to school,” she told them.
“I hope that each of you can get more schooling, but if you cannot, you can study at home as Lincoln did. An education is worth striving for, and if you cannot have much help in getting one, you can each help yourself to an education if you try.”
The
n she gave Ruby one of her name-cards, of thin, pale pink cardboard with a spray of roses and cornflowers curving above her printed name. On the back she had written, “Presented to Ruby Brewster, by her teacher, with kind regards. Brewster School, February, 1883.”
Tommy was next, then Martha and Charles, and Clarence. They were all so pleased. Laura let them have a moment to enjoy looking at the pretty cards, and carefully place them in their books. Then she told them to make ready their books, slates, and pencils, to carry home. For the last time she said, “School is dismissed.”
She had never been more surprised than she was then. For instead of putting on their wraps as she expected, they all came up to her desk. Martha gave her a beautiful, red apple. Ruby shyly gave her a little cake that her mother had baked for her gift. And Tommy and Charles and Clarence each gave her a new pencil that he had carefully sharpened for her.
She hardly knew how to thank them, but Martha said, “It’s us, I mean we, that thank you, Miss Ingalls. Thank you for helping me with grammar.”
“Thank you, Miss Ingalls,” Ruby said. “I wish it had frosting on it.” The boys did not say anything, but after they had all said good-by and gone, Clarence came back.
Standing by Laura’s table and leaning against it he looked down at his cap in his hands and muttered, “I’m sorry I was so mean.”
“Why, Clarence! That’s all right!” Laura exclaimed. “And you have done wonderfully well in your studies. I am proud of you.”
He looked at her with his old saucy grin, and shot out of the room, slamming the door so that the shanty shook.
Laura cleaned the blackboard and swept the floor. She stacked her books and papers and shut the drafts of the stove. Then she put on her hood and coat and stood at the window waiting until the sleigh bells came jingling and Prince and Lady stopped at the door.