These Happy Golden Years (15 page)

“Oh yes! I'll be ready in a minute.”

She tied on her poke bonnet, and told Ma that she was going for a buggy ride. Carrie's eyes were shining, and she stopped Laura and stood tiptoe to whisper, “Aren't you glad you didn't change your dress?”

“I am,” Laura whispered back, and she was. She was glad that her dress and her bonnet were so nice. Carefully Almanzo spread the linen lap robe, and she tucked it well under her flounce to cover the brown poplin from dust. Then they were driving away in the afternoon sunshine, southward toward the distant lakes, Henry and Thompson.

“How do you like the new buggy?” Almanzo asked.

It was a beautiful buggy, so black and shining, with glossy red spokes in the wheels. The seat was wide; at either end of it gleaming black supports slanted backward to the folded-down top behind, and the seat had a lazy-back, cushioned. Laura had never before been in a buggy so luxurious.

“It is nice,” Laura said as she leaned comfortably back against the leather cushion. “I never rode in a lazy-back buggy before. The back isn't quite as high as the plain wooden ones, is it?”

“Maybe this will make it better,” Almanzo said, laying his arm along the top of the back. He was not exactly hugging Laura, but his arm was against her shoulders.

She shrugged, but his arm did not move away. So she leaned forward, and shook the buggy whip where it stood in the whipsocket on the dashboard. The colts jumped forward and broke into a run.

“You little devil!” Almanzo exclaimed, as he closed his hands on the lines and braced his feet. He needed both hands to control those colts.

After a time the colts were calmer and quieter, trotting again.

“Suppose they had run away?” Almanzo then asked her indignantly.

“They could run a long way before they came to the end of the prairie,” Laura laughed. “And there's nothing to run against between here and there.”

“Just the same!” Almanzo began, and then he said,

“You're independent, aren't you?”

“Yes,” said Laura.

They drove a long way that afternoon, all the way to Lake Henry and around it. Only a narrow tongue of land separated it from Lake Thompson. Between the sheets of blue water there was width enough only for a wagon track. Young cottonwoods and choke-cherry trees stood slim on either side, above a tangle of wild grapevines. It was cool there. The wind blew across the water, and between the trees they could see the little waves breaking against the shore on either side.

Almanzo drove slowly, as he told Laura of the eighty-acre field of wheat he had sown, and the thirty acres of oats.

“You know I have my homestead and my tree claim both to work on,” he said. “Besides that, Cap and I have been hauling lumber for a long ways, out around town to build houses and schoolhouses all over the country. I had to team, to earn money for this new buggy.”

“Why not drive the one you had?” Laura sensibly wanted to know.

“I traded that on these colts last fall,” he explained. “I knew I could break them on the cutter in the winter, but when spring came, I needed a buggy. If I'd had one, I'd have been around to see you before this.”

As they talked, he drove out from between the lakes and around the end of Lake Henry, then away across the prairie to the north. Now and then they saw a little new claim shanty. Some had a stable, and a field of broken sod nearby.

“This country is settling up fast,” Almanzo said as they turned west along the shore of Silver Lake and so toward Pa's claim. “We have driven only forty miles and we must have seen as many as six houses.”

The sun was low in the west when he helped her out of the buggy at her door.

“If you like buggy rides as well as sleigh rides, I will be back next Sunday,” he said.

“I like buggy rides,” Laura answered. Then suddenly, she felt shy, and hurried into the house.

I declare,“ Ma said. ”It never rains but it pours." For strangely enough, Tuesday evening a young man who lived on a neighboring claim came by, and asked Laura to go buggy riding with him next Sunday.

On Thursday evening, another young neighbor asked her to go buggy riding with him next Sunday. And as she was walking home Saturday evening, a third young man overtook her and brought her home in his lumber wagon, and he asked her to go riding with him next day.

That Sunday Almanzo and Laura drove north past Almanzo's two claims, to Spirit Lake. There was a small claim shanty on Almanzo's homestead. On his tree claim there were no buildings at all, but the young trees were growing well. He had set them out carefully, and must 170

cultivate and care for them for five years; then he could prove up on the claim and own the land. The trees were thriving much better than he had expected at first, for he said that if trees would grow on those prairies, he thought they would have grown there naturally before now.

“These government experts have got it all planned,”

he explained to Laura. “They are going to cover these prairies with trees, all the way from Canada to Indian Territory. It's all mapped out in the land offices, where the trees ought to be, and you can't get that land except on tree claims. They're certainly right about one thing; if half these trees live, they'll seed the whole land and turn it into forest land, like the woods back east.”

“Do you think so?” Laura asked him in amazement.

Somehow she could not imagine those prairies turned into woods, like Wisconsin.

“Well, time will show,” he answered. “Anyway, I'm doing my part. I'll keep those trees alive if it can be done.”

Spirit Lake was beautiful and wild. There Almanzo drove along a rocky shore, where the water was deep and the waves ran foaming before the wind and dashed high on the rocks. There was an Indian mound by Spirit Lake, too. It was said to be a burial place, though no one knew what was in it. Tall cottonwoods grew there, and choke-cherries smothered in wild grapevines.

On the way back, they came into town past the 171

Olesons' claim. It was on the section line a mile east of Almanzo's homestead. Laura had not seen Nellie Oleson's home before, and she felt a little sorry for her; the shanty was so small, standing among the wild grass in the wind. Mr. Oleson had no horses, only a yoke of oxen, and the place was not improved as Pa's was. But Laura barely glanced at it, for she did not want to spoil the beautiful day by even thinking of Nellie Oleson.

“Good-by, then, till next Sunday,” Almanzo said, as he left her at her door. The whole country seemed different to her, now that she had seen Lakes Henry and Thompson, and Spirit Lake with its strange Indian mound. She wondered what next Sunday would show.

Sunday afternoon as she watched the buggy coming across Big Slough she saw, to her surprise, that someone was with Almanzo. She wondered who it could be, and if perhaps he did not intend to go for a drive that day.

When the horses stopped at the door, she saw that Nellie Oleson was with him. Without waiting for him to speak, Nellie cried, “Come on, Laura! Come with us for a buggy ride!”

“Want some help, Wilder?” Pa asked, going toward the colts' heads, and Almanzo said that he would be obliged.

So Pa held the bridles, while Almanzo waited to help Laura into the buggy, and in stupefied surprise Laura let him. Nellie moved over to make room for her, and helped her tuck the lap robe around the brown poplin.

As they drove away, Nellie began to talk. She admired the buggy; she exclaimed over the colts; she praised 172

Almanzo's driving; she gushed about Laura's clothes.

“Oh,” she said, “Laura, your poke bonnet is just utterly too-too!” She never stopped for an answer. She did so want to see Lakes Henry and Thompson; she had heard so much about them; she thought the weather was just utterly too-too, and the country was nice, of course not anything like New York State, but that couldn't really be expected out west, could it?

“Why are you so quiet, Laura?” she asked without stopping and went on, with a giggle, “My tongue wasn't made to lie still. My tongue's made to go flippity-flop!”

Laura's head ached; her ears rang with the continuous babble, and she was furious. Almanzo seemed to be enjoying the drive. At least, he looked as though he were being amused.

They drove to Lakes Henry and Thompson. They drove along the narrow tongue of land between them.

Nellie thought the lakes were just utterly too-too; she liked lakes, she liked water, she liked trees and vines, and she just adored driving on Sunday afternoons; she thought it was just too utterly too-too.

The sun was rather low as they came back, and since Laura's house was nearest, they stopped there first.

“I'll be along next Sunday,” Almanzo said as he helped Laura out of the buggy, and before Laura could speak, Nellie chimed in, “Oh, yes! we will come by for you. Didn't you have a good time! Wasn't it fun! Till Sunday, then, don't forget, we'll be by, good-by, Laura, good-by!” Almanzo and Nellie drove away toward town.

All that week Laura debated with herself, to go or not to go. It was no pleasure to her to go driving with Nellie.

On the other hand, if she refused to go, Nellie would be pleased; that was what Nellie wanted. Trust Nellie to find some way to go driving with Almanzo every Sunday.

Laura made up her mind to go with them.

Next Sunday's drive began much like the one before.

Nellie's tongue went flippity-flop. She was in gay spirits, chattering and laughing to Almanzo and almost ignoring Laura. She was sure of triumph, for she knew that Laura would not long endure this situation.

“Oh, Mannie, you have those wild colts so well broken, you handle them so wonderfully,” she cooed, leaning against Almanzo's arm.

Laura bent to tuck the dust robe more closely in at her feet, and as she straightened up again, she carelessly let the end of the robe flutter out on the strong prairie wind.

The colts left the ground in one leap and ran.

Nellie screamed and screamed, clutching at Almanzo's arm, which he very much needed to use just then. Laura quietly tucked down the end of the lap robe and sat on it.

When it was no longer flapping behind them, the colts soon quieted and went on in their well-trained trot.

“Oh, I never was so frightened, I never was so frightened in my life,” Nellie chattered and gasped. "Horses are such wild things. Oh, Mannie, why did they do it?

Don't let them do it again."

Almanzo looked sidewise at Laura and said nothing.

“Horses are all right if you understand them,” Laura remarked. “But I suppose these are not like the horses in New York.”

"Oh, I would never understand these western horses.

New York horses are quiet," Nellie said, and then she started talking of New York. She talked as though she knew it well. Laura knew nothing of New York State, but she knew that Nellie did not, either, and that Almanzo did.

They were nearing the turn toward home when Laura said, “We are so near the Boasts'. Don't you think it would be nice to go see them?”

“If you like,” said Almanzo. Instead of turning west, he drove straight on north across the railroad tracks and farther out across the prairie to Mr. Boast's homestead claim. Mr. and Mrs. Boast came out to the buggy.

“Well, well, so the buggy carries three,” Mr. Boast teased, his black eyes sparkling. “It's a wider seat than the cutter seat. The cutter was built for two.”

“Buggies are different,” Laura told him.

“They seem . . .” Mr. Boast began, but Mrs. Boast in-terrupted. “Now, Rob!” she exclaimed. “You'd better be asking the folks to get out and stay awhile.”

“We can't stay,” Laura said. “We only stopped for a minute.”

“We are just out for a drive,” Almanzo explained.

“Then we will turn around here,” Nellie said with authority.

Laura spoke quickly, "Let's go a little further. I've 175

never been over this road. Is there time to go a little further, Almanzo?"

“It's a good road straight north,” Mr. Boast said. His eyes laughed at Laura. She was sure he guessed what was in her mind, and her eyes laughed back at him as Almanzo started the colts and they went on north. Beyond Mr. Boast's claim they crossed an end of the slough that ran northeast from Silver Lake. Here a road turned toward town, but it was wet and boggy as Laura had known it would be, so they kept on driving north.

“This is stupid, this isn't any fun; call this a good road?” Nellie fretted.

“It is good so far,” Laura said quietly.

“Well! we won't come this way again!” Nellie snapped. Then quickly she recovered her happy vivac-ity, telling Almanzo how much she enjoyed driving just anywhere with such a good driver and fine team.

Another road branched to the west and Almanzo turned the team into it. Nellie's home was only a little way ahead. As Almanzo helped her from the buggy at her door, she clung to his hand a moment, saying how much she had enjoyed the drive and, “We'll go another way next Sunday, won't we, Mannie?”

“Oh, it's too bad I suggested going that way, Nellie, if you minded it so much,” said Laura, and Almanzo said only, “Good-by,” and took his place beside Laura.

There was quietness between them for a little while as they drove toward town. Then Laura said, "I am 176

afraid I have made you late for your chores by wanting to take that road."

“It doesn't matter,” he reassured her. “The days and nights are as long as they ever were, and I don't have a cow.”

Again they were silent. Laura felt that she was dull company after Nellie's lively chatter, but she was determined that Almanzo would decide that. She would never try to hold him, but no other girl was going to edge her out little by little without his realizing it.

At home again, as Almanzo and Laura stood beside the buggy, he said, “I suppose we'll go again next Sunday?”

“We'll not all go,” Laura answered. "If you want to take Nellie for a drive, do so, but do not come by for me.

Good night."

She went quietly into the house and shut the door.

Sometimes when she was walking to her school, past the hollow that was growing greener with violets' leaves then blue with their blossoms, Laura wondered if Almanzo would come next Sunday. Sometimes when her three little pupils were diligently studying, she looked up from her own studies and saw the cloud shadows moving over the sunny grass beyond the windows, and wondered. If he didn't, he didn't; that was all. And she could only wait until next Sunday.