Little House On The Prairie (2/?)

Chapter 2

            They started building their house about a half-mile away from the river.  “Maybe twenty miles to Independence,” Pete had said, referring to a large town that they’d both heard about before.  It would have a store, for things they couldn’t make themselves: calico for clothing, for example.   (Patrick wouldn’t admit to anyone that he could sew and knit, for that wasn’t something men did then, but his skill made both their lives easier)

            Pete cut down trees from the river, enough to make a small, one-room house.  They’d only need one bed, of course, and a table and chairs; they’d brought the stove from their previous house… but all that would be done after the house was build, when they had a steady roof over their heads.

The actual building was simple: they cut the logs in half, making notches on each end about a foot and a half from each edge, and laid the logs in opposite directions, one vertical and one horizontal, until they had the frame.  This frame went almost entirely into the ground, to keep the cold out from below.  They laid more logs on top of those, and soon the house was three, four logs high.  When finished, it was sixteen logs high.  Pete, using his axe, cut two square holes for windows in the eastern wall (“So we can watch the sun set,” He’d said, and Patrick couldn’t disagree) and a long rectangle on the opposite wall for a door.

            The second he finished the door, Patrick grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him excitedly inside their incomplete home.  It was a world of stripes; sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the logs, leaving strips of shadows over everything, strangely beautiful.  The nights were growing colder, and Pete was in a rush to make floors and a steady roof, to keep out the rain that he knew would be coming soon.  It hadn’t rained since they’d gotten to Indian Territory, so it would only be a matter of time.  Before long their house was complete, and the two men spent that day smiling, unloading the wagon and taking off its cover, bringing all their things into the new house.

            Their bed would go in the corner below the right window, Patrick’s cozy chair next to the left one so he might look out at the prairie while he relaxed.  The only thing left to do was make a table, and two new chairs, which would be done after Pete made a small stable, to keep the horses out of the wind and rain and snow.  Patrick gazed out the window at the prairie.  He could see small streams of smoke coming from someplace not far away, and he knew it was an Indian settlement.  Immediately Patrick felt a worried uneasiness in his stomach.  Indians were not nice people, they didn’t like white men.  He was scared, but remembered Pete, so brave and strong, and Pete’s gun hanging on the wall by the door where he’d made a hook for it.  He sat, mildly upset, for a moment before Pete came from behind him and gently ran his fingers through his hair.

            “I’ll get you windows,” He said with a smile, “Next time I go to town.”

Patrick looked up at him, a grin creeping across his face, and planted a kiss on Pete’s lips.

            “Oh, thank you!” He said, truly meaning it.  Windows! Windows meant he could look outside at the prairie all winter long, through the blizzards that were surely coming.  They had had windows at their old house, and Patrick affectionately remembered how the frost formed new pictures every morning.

            Within a week, the house and stable were completely finished.  It was an early winter, and they had no time to plant crops.  Luckily, they had saved up enough money to buy a lot of the food they would need, and Pete would set out the next day to buy the seasons’ worth of supplies.  Plus, there was always hunting, and Patrick himself had a few extra dollars stored away that Pete didn’t know about… certainly they’d be perfectly well off throughout the harsh winter. 

That morning, Pete set out for town.  Twenty miles wasn’t far, and he’d be back before dusk, which provided some sort of comfort.  But still, Patrick couldn’t get his mind off those Indians. Surely, by now, they would know of the white settlers, and Patrick didn’t think they would be very welcomed. He spent that day keeping himself busy; making sure Pete would have a wonderful dinner to come home to.  And there were the presents to look forward to; things from town. Oh, the windows! And Patrick knew that, despite his many reassurances to Pete that the house and the windows were present enough, Pete would go against his wishes and come back with a gift for him. Patrick laughed to himself thinking of Pete’s stubbornness, though it was all in love, and barely heard the knock at the door. It was a loud sort of knock, unlike Pete’s gentle one.

Patrick was utterly startled; he stood scared for a few seconds before he realized that whoever was knocking wouldn’t stop until he answered, and that he should open the door before they decided to knock it down.  He hurried over to it and undid the padlock, shaking in fear as he opened the door slowly.  He was expecting Indians, and was almost in shocked when the face looking back at him wasn’t the tanned, painted one of an Indian; but a pale, wide-eyed white man.  Another settler, he assumed.

“Good afternoon, sir, how may I help you?” Patrick asked politely, wiping his brow in relief that his intense fear had been pointless.

“Hullo,” Said the man, “I’m Sam Troy.  My family lives about thirty miles that way,” he pointed north.  “I was on my way to town, and couldn’t help notice that we had a neighbor! I just thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.”

Patrick smiled courteously and reached his hand out to shake Sam’s. “I’m Patrick, Patrick Stump. It’s nice to meet you, sir, and certainly nice to hear that we’ve got a neighbor not too far!”

Sam nodded.  “We?” He asked curiously. Patrick nodded; he was used to this kind of inquiry.  Usually it would be the wife and children of a family left at home to cook and clean and tend.  Men went out and took care of the animals, the building, the crops.

“I live with my good friend, Peter. He’ll be glad to hear you’re not too far off.” Replied Patrick, still smiling.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Patrick, but I’m afraid I better be on my way to town.  The sooner I get there, the sooner I’ll get back, and you can bet my wife and kids will worry if I’m late! I hope I’ll see you again, though, and your friend, too… Bye!” Sam tipped his hat in Patrick’s direction politely.  Patrick waved in response, and the second Sam’s back was turned he shut the door, shivering a little.

“Nice guy,” he said to himself as he leaned over to take the bread out of the oven, suddenly feeling safer.  Not more than two hours after that, Patrick heard Pete’s gentle knocks ringing against the wooden door. He practically ran to the door, a smile he couldn’t hide spreading across his face.

As soon as the door opened, he threw his arms around Pete’s neck. “Whoa, baby, what happened?” Pete asked worriedly, hugging back, but he could tell something was slightly wrong.

“Nothing, I just missed you, is all…” Patrick replied, only half-lying. He had missed Pete.

“I missed you too, lovely. But boy, have I got a surprise for you!” He said, showing Patrick a few packages wrapped in brown paper.

“Windows!” Patrick exclaimed, excitedly unwrapping the square, flat package. He drew Pete in for a close hug, his eyes twinkling.

“I told you I’d get them! That’s not all I got, look! Food for the whole winter, and something else, just for you…” Pete retorted, the smile never fading off his face.

“Oh, Pete… you shouldn’t have…” Patrick blushed as Pete tenderly handed him the last package, which had a blue bow in the corner.  It was unusual for someone to get gifts back then; normally every extra penny was spent on food or clothes. But Pete, always thinking of Patrick, was forever showering the man in gifts.

It was a brown bowler hat, its edges rounded, made of thick fabric, unlike anything Patrick had seen before.  Usually, they could only afford to make straw hats… but this… Patrick couldn’t even begin to imagine how much Pete had spent on this.

“Oh, Pete… I… Thank you,” He said, speechless and unable to get his words out. 

Pete responded by kissing Patrick firmly on the lips.  Patrick’s hands found their way into Pete’s hair, running through the soft brown strands, grabbing hold of a few, deepening the kiss. Finally they broke apart with a small sigh, both still slyly smiling at the other.

“I made dinner…” Patrick said, but Pete only kissed him again.