A Prairie Rose

Chapter 22

I had come up with a plan- not a good one, I had to admit. But a simple one. An effortless one. One that may be just easy enough to work.

Pa would simply never come home.

The Hansens would have no reason to leave if he never came back. And they would never know what had happened to him- accidents happened all the time. Sudden illnesses. Carriages breaking down in the middle of nowhere, with nobody around to help. Landslides and flooding rivers and wild animals and heart attacks and strokes and fires and natural disasters and ice that cracked beneath you as you tried to cross a frozen pond- there were so, so many things that could cause someone to leave home and never return.

And I didn't even have to think up a specific one. Because, as far as they would know, I would have no idea what had happened to Pa. He had gone off with promises of returning, simply to never do so. 

Besides, the Hansens liked me well enough now, I was sure, that if they felt I was no burden at all, they would keep me. 

So I did all that I could to be helpful, and use up as little resources as possible- I would eat a few quick bites at meals, then claim to not be hungry. Mr. and Mrs. Hansen would exchange a concerned glance, asking what had happened to my appetite and if I was feeling well.

I would always say that I felt fine, and that I had loved the food, but just filled up quickly. The less food I ate, the less expensive me staying would be- and the more motivation they would have to keep me. I could be seen as less of a burden to consider. That was more important than ridding my stomach of the constant hunger pains that now plagued it.

I also made a point to help as much as possible with chores. I would be the first to volunteer to fetch water, to collect kindling, to begin washing clothes or vegetables without being asked, to sweep up a mess as soon as it was made, or to add another log to the fire if it dwindled in size even an inch.

Several times, Mrs. Hansen told me to slow down. "Go and play," She would tell me. "Hattie misses you. You aren't a slave, Honey- there's enough work to go around. You'll work yourself to death."

And she was right- I wasn't a slave. But I may very well end up a domestic servant if they decided to be rid of me, and I had heard so many horror stories of scullery maids and evil superiors from Pa that I could not allow that to happen. Even if I had to act as a servant to them to prove my worth, I would prefer to stay with them for unpaid service than be sent off- at least I knew they were kind and caring.

But then they began making rules. I could not begin dinner before Mrs. Hansen decided it was time to. No touching fire; I had burned myself several times trying to add wood or help cooking, so reaching towards the fire had become a punishable offense- a threat I did not take seriously until I found myself on the receiving end of the brush, again, for reaching towards the flames one too many times after several warnings. 

I had to do better, I realized, after my tears had subsided. I was seated on Mrs. Hansen's lap as she rocked and comforted me, and realized I was doing it again- being a burden. The punishment, the comfort afterwards- it was time and energy and effort that she had to put towards me. It was me showing her that I may be trouble to have around.

Other rules, too- no going outside without permission. That meant no gathering kindling whenever I saw we were low- I had to wait to be told to, or be annoying and ask permission first whenever I wanted to. And no fire also meant no washing up dishes or myself without Mrs. Hansen having to take the time to prepare water for me. 

I was working myself down to the bone trying to keep up with any demands that I could- until one day it became too much. 

Spending so much time cleaning and staying up so late worrying left me exhausted- and the constant hunger did not help. I had made my way over to the newly-crafted tables and chairs in the front room, and in my exhaustion, I had tried to prove my usefulness by beating Mr. Hansen to grabbing a jar of canned pears left out from lunch. In my haste to put them away, my hand had bounced off Mr. Hansen's, shattering the jar against the ground and scattering pears everywhere.