How the Story’s Going to Turn Out

How the Story’s Going to Turn Out

The girls and I read Little House in the Big Woods and Farmer Boy last year, so I was delighted when I discovered Little House on the Prairie and On the Banks of Plum Creek in the audio-book section of our local library.

We have passed many hours in our silver bullet minivan, listening to the incredible narrator, Cherry Jones, who can sound like Pa one second and Laura the next. My girls are so enthralled with the story that they’ve started “playing” that they’re Laura and Mary, and my six-year-old wants me to teach her how to sew (good luck there, kid).

This past weekend, however, I started reading aloud from By the Shores of Silver Lake, and I was choked up by page two. Somehow, I missed reading The Little House series when I was a child. My mom read to me all the time, and I had devoured many classics by sixth grade, but this series slipped beneath my radar.

When author Laura started describing Jack, her aging bulldog’s gray face, and how he was tired and didn’t want to travel with them to South Dakota, I glanced across the living room at my husband and said, “I’m afraid he’s going to D-I-E.”

My husband’s father had read the series to him and his three siblings many times, and he had read it himself. He had every jot and tittle nearly memorized.

My husband nodded solemnly, but his eyes twinkled like Pa’s. Our two eldest girls were nestled on either side of me; our youngest girl was standing against the couch, grinning up at me with her baby blues, and though my heart overflowed with their proximity, it was as if a weight rested on my chest.

We had just finished listening to On the Banks of Plum Creek. In the end, right before Christmas, Pa had returned to his family after being lost in the Minnesotan blizzard for three whole days. In the end, the Ingalls were preparing to eat a warm meal as the cold wind blew outside.

And then, By the Shores of Silver Lake opened. Mary was blind. The dog, Jack, was old. Ma was sad. Another baby, Grace, had been born. Laura was standing in the doorway in a dirty prairie dress and ruffled braids, staring out at desolation.

I almost didn’t keep reading but forced myself to continue for my girls. I forced myself to read even as tears ran down my cheeks. For some reason, I can never read about dogs dying without becoming a blubbering mess (Marley & Me was an ugly cry). But it was more than that. More than just a dog.

In the other books, the Ingalls had experienced hardship, sure, but they always got out of it. Pa survived the blizzard, and though he’d eaten the Christmas candy, they still had oysters for Christmas dinner. Though the government forced the Ingalls out of Indian territory, they were able to live in a dug out over winter (Caroline’s a better woman than I am). Though they almost died from malaria, they all recovered without a hitch.

And then, Mary went blind. Jack died. There wasn’t enough money, and they had to move to South Dakota, and it’s South Dakota, so you know that’s going to be an ominous turn. (Like . . . da, da, dum. . .The Long Winter.)

After I closed the book and tucked my girls in for the night, I thought some more about the series, about life, and remembered when I drove my eldest daughter and nephew to school. We were listening to Little House on the Prairie, and it had just gotten to the part where the “wild, naked men” enter the cabin (I had to explain that one to my sister-in-law).

I knew it was going to turn out all right because I’d watched the TV show. But those two little sensitive souls sitting on boosters on the bench seat didn’t know it, and they looked out the windshield with round brown eyes.

Turning down the story, I asked, “Is it too scary?”

They nodded like twins.

I said, “But it turns out okay. I promise.”

Not one person on this spinning planet is exempt from trials, and we often have to battle fear while waiting to see how the story’s going to turn out.

But our precious heavenly”Pa’s” watching us with kind, paternal eyes that, I imagine, twinkle with a little amusement. He’s saying, “You can’t see how the story’s going to turn out right now. But it’s going to end up all right, my children. I promise.”

Your story’s going to end up all right, my friends. I promise.