A Prairie Rose

Chapter 18

Just as promised, Mr. Hansen was quick to build a chicken coop just outside. He began on a horse stable, but was unable to finish before the weather worsened, making it impossible to continue work outside. He had begrudgingly taken his horses to a nearby settlement- not the one that was lodging my own horses, thank goodness- and was paying a fee to have them stay there for the winter.

It was so strange to me, having a man around who truly provided. Seeing how much work Mr. Hansen took care of in just a few days- making a chimney, patching holes, attaching a door, bringing home food, making a coop to provide constant eggs, caring for the horses, chopping and bringing in wood whenever we began to ran low so the fire would never even grow small- I found myself ashamed as I came to feel even more bitter about the fact that Pa had never done any of those things.

He had never acted like a father at all, had he?

But Mr. Hansen was a good father, indeed. He would pat Grace on the shoulder as he passed by, or finish churning the butter for her if she grew tired, or offer her half of his molasses cookie after dinner- finding little ways to make her smile even when she was usually so temperamental. And he adored Hattie- he would lift her into the air and swing her around, making her squeal with laughter as her skirts billowed out. He would play along when she would hide behind the door to try and surprise him when he came back in from cutting wood, and place her feet on his to dance with her, and sit her on his lap to read to her.

He played with me, too. My favorite game was when he chased me and Hattie, grasping our arms and lifting us into the air when he caught us, sometimes grabbing our ankles and holding us upside down. I would shriek with laughter as my hair and dress covered my eyes, and the blood rushed to my face, warming my cheeks merrily.

I liked the books he read, as well, though I was too shy to sit on his lap. It made me sad- I wished I had ever had a Pa who let me sit on his lap, so I was not so nervous to do it myself. I had no idea how to read, and it would have been nice to look at the words as he did so, trying to match them to their written version.

Though there was plenty of fun, there were plenty of chores, as well. Very often I found myself sweeping or sifting flour or grinding coffee beans. I would have to make beds, string up the wash, fold clothes, wash and dry dishes, collect kindling. And it was almost daily that I was sent outside to collect eggs, or walk with Mr. Hansen down to the river to collect water as he checked his snares.

But I didn't mind. Hattie was almost always by my side. She made it fun- even when it was so cold out that my coat and hat and stockings did not provide enough protection from the blistering wind.

At least there was a warm house to return to now, though. One with conversation and laughter and a happy fire-lit glow to it. One that always smelled like the next meal- even on days when Mr. Hansen caught nothing in his traps, we would have brined meat or potato stew or johnnycakes with eggs and butter and dried fruit or canned vegetables.

It was so fun and warm and comfortable that I almost forgot where I was- it was so easy to feel as if I belonged with these people that it would sometimes slip my mind that they were not truly mine. That we were in the middle of winter in Wilderness Country, that they were here because a tree had befallen their house rather than because they simply liked me, that they thought Pa was still alive, and that I was only letting them stay here because it was supposedly a lodge.

But when I did remember, an ache would grow in my stomach. It would travel up to my chest, then bloom into a lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. I would suddenly stop laughing and smiling and giggling, and remember to put my walls back up.

That would make it hurt less when this all went away.

Most of the time, though, I did not remember. I was stuck in a happy little bubble. Until, one day, Grace popped it.